This Little Light
by Dramatricks
Summary: When Quinn and Rachel deal with the aftermath of a brutal attack, will their love be enough to hold their relationship together?  Takes place a little AU after season 1.
1. Radiate

**Warning: This story contains harsh language and some pretty graphic violence for the first couple of chapters. Read at your own discretion.**

* * *

It was good to be back on top.

Back on top as the Head Bitch in Charge of William McKinley High School. Back on top of a pyramid at Cheerios practice, after school, on a hot and draining Tuesday afternoon.

Sylvester had let her back on the squad as soon as she'd lost the baby fat. Quinn hadn't even asked. She simply showed up in Coach's office, _in_ her Cheerios uniform, one hand propped on her hip, the old Quinn smirk toying with her lips. Sylvester looked her up and down and waved her out of her office with a nod. Oh yes, Quinn Fabray was back in top form, and for once, Sue Sylvester decided it was perhaps not a good idea to go up against someone who had enough of her own blackmail to make Sue's life aggravating, at least.

Brittany was okay with it, Santana was pissed, but there was no use for it; the old high school hierarchy was back in play, as if she'd never left. As if she'd never cheated on her boyfriend with his best friend, never gotten pregnant with said best friend's baby and lied to said boyfriend about it. Never been slushied after Jacob's blog ripped her life wide open, never been kicked off the Cheerios. Never been kicked out of her house, or given birth to a seven-pound three-ounce baby girl with brown hair and Puck's eyes. Or given that baby up for adoption, and cried for two weeks at the loss of the little flutters in her stomach, and the soft, warm weight of life in her arms.

It didn't matter, because Quinn Fabray was _back_. Back to making the crowd of _losers_ part like she was Moses at the Red Sea, when she walked through the halls. Back to noticing boys' eyes trail her body, from her face to her breasts – lingering – and then to her ass – she could feel their eyes still lingering as she walked past. And she just laughed, because, ha, _boys_. And maybe she wasn't back into her parents' good graces or their house (well, now her mother's house, anyway), and maybe Finn and Puck still could hardly look at her, and maybe she still got grief from Sylvester for choosing to remain in glee, but Quinn didn't care.

She had a better house, someone who couldn't _stop_ looking at her, and glee was the best part of her day, because she shared it with the prize Quinn Fabray had won, at the finish line of the race that was her fucked-up life during the past year.

That Quinn would start dating again after the birth of Beth was a surprise to no one. The fact that she chose to date _Rachel Berry_ shocked the entire school. But to Quinn, it was the natural progression of something that had been growing since she came back to Mercedes' house after regionals… after she'd sent Beth to her new life.

It was so _weird_. She'd been _two_ for eight months, and now she was just…_one_. Quinn would catch herself running her hands over an empty belly, searching for a kick that would never come. And then she'd start thinking about baby soft skin, eyes staring up at her with trust and wonder, a smile on tender pink lips… Quinn couldn't stop herself from breaking down. Mercedes didn't know what to do about it; she could listen and hug, but that was it. She didn't know what it was like. And she couldn't count on Santana or Brittany to get it, either, even though Brittany's hugs were always welcome. The guys and the rest of glee… no.

So she was surprised one day, when she had been lying on the bed in Mercedes' spare bedroom, crying, to hear a soft clearing of throat. A sound she knew well, coming from the last person she ever expected to show up at Mercedes' house, and in her doorway.

"_What do you want, Berry?" she mumbled, not changing her position or looking over at the doorway._

"_It has come to my attention that you, Quinn, are not happy."_

_Quinn closed her eyes. "And what gives you that impression?"_

"_The fact that, although you will eventually resume your position as Cheerios captain, I'm sure, you're no longer the Quinn that we all remember, and that some of us loved. I have to say that I was not one of those people, given your penchant for throwing icy drinks at me, and really I shouldn't even bother to care, but your recent-"_

"_Berry!" she all but growled._

_There was a soft sigh, she heard footsteps, and then the bed dipped as Rachel Berry, of all people, sat down and placed her hand on Quinn's back._

"_I was in the bathroom the other day… you were too. I listened to you cry for ten minutes."_

_Quinn flinched. The hand on the small of her back was soothing, but the knowledge that Rachel Berry had heard her being vulnerable wasn't. _

"_So? What do you care?" she snapped._

"_Do you have anyone _**else**_?"_

_Rachel's question was cutting, but truthful, and Quinn shook her head. She didn't have anyone else._

"_Then the way I see it, Quinn Fabray, you need me."_

_Quinn snorted and rolled over to face Rachel, ready with an angry retort – which slipped away when she met Rachel's eyes and saw actual concern there. She sighed and looked away._

"_You don't know what it's like. You've never had a child."_

"_No," Rachel said carefully, "But I've never had a mother, either. Not the same, but close."_

And so the connection, however tentative, had been made.

For all her faults and extremely bad taste in clothes, Rachel Berry wasn't all that bad, Quinn had been forced to grudgingly admit to herself. For one thing, she brought cookies every time she came to visit. And though Quinn was wanting to be back on the Cheerios and had to maintain her weight because she knew Sue would watch her waistline like a hawk, she couldn't resist stealing at least one peanut butter cookie and swirling the goodness around with her tongue. Rachel was a good cook, and she always smiled with a little blush when Quinn's eyes drifted shut as she took the first bite.

But there was the fact, too, that even though Rachel sometimes talked enough to rival a chipmunk on speed, when she knew that Quinn needed to air out her feelings Rachel's mouth would clamp shut and she'd sit for an hour or longer, just listening. She didn't plan or offer any advice, didn't judge or laugh; she simply nodded her head and made soft sounds of reassurance or agreement, and if Quinn happened to break down – which was pretty much every day for two weeks – Rachel was there to slip an arm around her, offering tissues and gentle brushes of Quinn's hair with her fingertips until the sobs subsided.

"_Rachel?" Quinn sniffed._

"_Hmm?" Rachel hummed to herself, reaching over to the tissue box and pulling one out, handing it to Quinn._

_Quinn wiped her eyes and looked at her. "Thank you."_

"_For what?"_

_Wait, was Rachel Berry being modest for once in her life? Quinn smirked a little. "For being here. And listening. Letting me snot all over you."_

_Rachel rolled her eyes. "You did not 'snot all over' me, Quinn. A runny nose is simply an unfortunate side effect of crying, and it's perfectly natural, so you shouldn't be—"_

"_Rachel!"_

"_You're welcome." Rachel smiled, and Quinn sat up a little straighter when she felt a flutter, deep down in her belly. "I'm happy to be here for you."_

_Quinn smiled back. "I'm happy to have you here."_

And she was. Later on she would reflect that the flutter she'd gotten when Rachel smiled at her was just like when Beth would kick or move inside her, thrilling her… and she would wonder what that meant.

What followed after was a bit of a whirlwind, what with Mercedes' brother coming back from college, and Quinn finding herself homeless for the fourth time in a year. But then Rachel swooped in, her tiny body a tornado of packing, taping, and lifting, and Quinn was tucked away in a little guest room at the end of the hall, across from Rachel's, with a bed and a desk and a television – and a bathroom she would have to share with Rachel.

After a week, Quinn then had to concede that _living_ with Rachel Berry wasn't that bad either. Her dads were amazingly kind, if a little bit… absent, she guessed was the word. And Rachel _was_ a good cook, which Quinn knew was absolutely dangerous for her diet, but when those delicious smells would come wafting out of the kitchen and upstairs to her bedroom, she didn't give a damn. Plus there was just something nice about being able to share time with Rachel, who, though she was scatterbrained and bossy most of the time, also had those times where she just was… downright sweet. Those times were usually when they were sitting together on Quinn's bed, doing homework or going over songs for glee. Rachel wouldn't talk, much, then; she'd just sit hunched over her book or the sheet music, her eyes focused and intense. Every now and then she'd tuck a lock of brown hair behind her ear, looking up to find Quinn staring at her. She'd smile and blush, and Quinn would smile back, feeling warm and happy, before going back to whatever it is she was doing.

"_Why'd you want me to move in with you?"_

_She thought it was funny that Rachel didn't look up at her, just continued tracing the patterns on the quilt of Quinn's bed._

"_You needed someplace to go. We had a spare room. It's like a jigsaw puzzle: when the pieces fit, everything comes together."_

_Quinn laughed, and it felt good after having spent so much time doing the exact opposite. She poked Rachel in the side, and Rachel squealed, batting her hand away. She laughed again._

"_Do you think we fit, Rachel?"_

_She had no idea where the question had come from, and she stilled, biting her lip._

_But then Rachel looked at her, and there was a new light in her eyes, something Quinn hadn't seen before, and didn't know how to place it. She tilted her head, just staring at her, and Quinn began to feel a little uncomfortable under that intense gaze._

"_You know… we just might."_

"That was pathetic!" Coach Sylvester barked at them through the megaphone. "If you think that's hard, try being a midget at a urinal! _That's_ hard! Do it again!"

She was sweating and her hair was sticking to her face; Quinn swept it back with her hand and took a quick drag on her water bottle, tossing it against her bag. She glanced up at the bleachers and for a split second her brow furrowed. Rachel wasn't in the bleachers.

"Move it, Fabray!"

She shrugged, and got back into position.

"_Honestly, Quinn, I really don't think I can stand to watch The Notebook one more time."_

_Quinn snickered. "You love it. You cry every time."_

"_It's depressing!"_

"_It's romantic!"_

"_I wonder if I'll ever find someone who wouldn't mind staying in a nursing home with me." _

_Rachel's voice was somber, and it tugged at Quinn's heart. She turned to the smaller girl, who was sitting next to her on Rachel's bed. I'd stay with you, Quinn heard in the back of her mind, and she shoved that down, quickly. _

"_I'm sure you'll find someone, Rach."_

_Rachel smiled then. "Of course, someone should start a Broadway nursing home. You know, like they have that hospital and nursing home for old Hollywood stars."_

"_A home full of old, cranky Rachel Berrys?" Quinn said, an eyebrow raised. "Yikes."_

_Rachel swatted her thigh, and Quinn giggled. Then she was struck with another case of what in the hell, did I just say that when she heard, "Hey, Rach? Can I stay in here with you tonight?" issue from her lips._

_There was that head tilt again, and that unreadable expression. And then, "Sure."_

_When Quinn woke up sometime around three, she was aware, through her sleep-filled haze, of a warm arm around her midsection, and soft breath tickling the hair on the back of her neck._

_She smiled, and went back to sleep._

Quinn checked her watch. Hopefully practice would be over soon and she could find Rachel. She still wasn't in the bleachers, and she was beginning to worry a little.

"What's the matter, Quinn, missing curfew?" Santana said with a smirk.

"No," she didn't even bother to call her out on the attitude. "Rachel's not here. She's usually always here by now."

Brittany hugged her and Quinn smiled against the girl's shoulder. "I'm sure she's fine, Quinn." Her eyes widened. "Maybe she's on a super secret spy mission!" Quinn laughed.

"Or, maybe she's in the choir room, breaking windows with that annoying voice of hers," Santana muttered.

Quinn would have reached out and smacked her, if Coach hadn't blasted through her megaphone again.

"_I want to kiss you."_

_They were sitting on the couch, watching something on the National Geographic channel about… something. Rachel had insisted on it, and when Rachel Berry insisted on anything, it was best to get out of her way and let her have whatever she wanted. They had started out sitting side by side, with Rachel's hand in Quinn's, which was a new development within the last few days._

_She found that she liked that, when Rachel would slide her hand across and take Quinn's hand in hers. Sometimes she'd play with Quinn's fingers, which Quinn loved - except for the time that This Little Piggy came out, and then Quinn had glared at Rachel until she'd squeaked and dropped their hands into her lap. Rachel's hands were tiny and soft – totally __**not**__ like a man's, and Quinn would feel that flutter in her belly when a small finger would trace the outline of veins on the back of her hand._

_Eventually they'd changed their position until Quinn was leaning up against the arm of the couch, Rachel laying on her side with her head on Quinn's chest. Her shampoo was like perfume, drifting up into Quinn's senses and making her sigh with contentment. Rachel was warm and gentle and safe, and she realized what that flutter had meant, after all._

_She hadn't realized she'd said it aloud, and Quinn stiffened when Rachel looked up at her, her eyes wide._

"_You… what?"_

"_I shouldn't have said it," Quinn blurted hastily. "It was a mistake."_

"_Oh." There was a hint of disappointment, and Quinn bit her lip._

"_So you don't want to kiss me?"_

"_I…uh.. um…" God, when had she suddenly become a moron?_

"_What if I want you to?"_

_She looked at the light in Rachel's eyes, and Rachel was smiling a little and looking adorably nervous, and she was playing with Quinn's hand._

"_You want me to?" Quinn whispered. This was all just so…__**awkward**__._

_Rachel met her gaze, and nodded, slowly._

_Quinn's breath caught in her throat. It wasn't like she hadn't kissed before: there'd been Finn with his shy, fumbling kisses that more often than not totally missed her mouth, and then there was Puck, wrestling for dominance, his teeth knocking against hers as he fought to make his __**claim**__. But this was Rachel, and even though her lips looked so warm and moist and inviting, and her eyes were a little scared but trusting, Quinn wasn't even sure if she was __**gay**__. She knew that if she kissed Rachel, there would be no turning back._

_But she didn't turn back._

_Instead, she shifted a little so that she could cup the side of Rachel's face with her hand, then dipped her head and brushed her lips to Rachel's, awkwardly, softly… She drew back, questioning Rachel with her eyes, and Rachel nodded, a deep flush coloring her cheeks. Quinn kissed her again, more firmly this time, and a jolt ran through her when Rachel sighed into her mouth._

_There was no turning back as Rachel slowly pulled herself up on top of her and deepened the kiss, searching for Quinn with her tongue, and finding her._

Thank God it was over. Coach Sylvester had been merciful for once, letting them get away with only five laps around the track. Quinn huffed over to her duffel bag, slinging it over her shoulder and claiming the water bottle with her mouth, guzzling like a frat boy at a kegger.

She heard Santana laugh next to her. "Not so easy being back in charge, is it, Fabray? Sure you can handle it?"

Quinn turned and fastened her best icy glare on the Latina. "I can handle _anything_," she hissed. Her eyes wandered over to the bleachers, scanning quickly from the top row to the bottom, around the stadium.

Rachel wasn't there.

"Where the hell is she?" she muttered.

"You know, you've gotten so whipped since you started doing… whatever, with Rachel," Santana said, shaking her head.

"I am not whipped!"

"Says the girl who came to school with a bag full of cough drops, cold medicine and a _thermometer _just because Berry had been _sniffling_ the night before."

"Says the girl who waited for three hours outside, in the cold, the day after Thanksgiving so that you could get Brittany a _singing duck_ before anyone else got it."

"He's just so cute!" Brittany said, grinning, and Santana shook her head, blushing – though she'd deny it and say it was because of the heat.

"Maybe she's out in the parking lot," Quinn said, trying to figure out where her uneasy feeling was coming from. "If she's not out there after we shower, I'll call her." Santana nodded her agreement, and together the three head Cheerios walked towards the locker room.

"And anyway, it's not 'doing whatever.' I'm dating her, and I'm pretty sure I'm in love with her."

"Gross."

Quinn stuck her tongue out at Santana, then stepped into the shower to wash off the day's grime and sweat.

_Rachel's breath was hot on her throat, her tongue trailing down her pulse point, ending at Quinn's collarbone and sucking the tender skin there._

_Quinn groaned, tangling her hands in Rachel's hair, holding her there. "God… you feel amazing…" she whispered._

_Rachel smiled against her flesh. "You __**taste**__ amazing."_

_Quinn blushed, and then felt very young, very vulnerable and awkward. "Rachel…"_

_Hearing the hesitation in her voice, Rachel backed off immediately and raised her head, concern tensing her features. "Did I do something wrong?"_

"_No!" Quinn hastened to say. "No, not at all… you're doing everything… exactly __**right**__, my God." It was Rachel's turn to blush and she looked down at Quinn's naked body, flexing her hands. "It's just… I've never… I mean… not with a girl."_

_Rachel bent low and kissed Quinn tenderly. "I've never," she said against her lips. "__**Ever**__."_

_Quinn's eyes widened at the implication. "Rachel, I—"_

"_Shh," Rachel quieted her with a finger on her mouth. Quinn licked it, grinning when Rachel moaned. "I trust you."_

_Quinn wrapped her arms around Rachel and pulled her down to her, relishing the feel of skin against skin. "I trust you, too," she whispered into her ear. "I want…" Quinn shut her eyes, wondering why Rachel Berry always made it so difficult for her to speak._

"_Rachel… make love to me."_

_Rachel smiled and kissed her again. "I think I can arrange that."_

_Quinn lasted a full five minutes of Rachel's mouth on her breasts before she took the girl's head in her hands, raising it._

"_Rachel?"_

_If Rachel was impatient, she didn't show it. She simply propped herself up on her elbows and looked at Quinn._

"_What is it, Quinn?"_

_She felt shy, and her face was hot – and not just because of the heat currently rushing through her body at Rachel's closeness._

"_Be my girl."_

_Rachel's eyes widened, and she smiled so brightly Quinn could have sworn the entire room lit up._

"_Really?"_

_Quinn laughed at her eagerness, then nodded. "Yes, really. Be my girl, Rachel Berry."_

_Rachel eased herself back up so that she was on her side against her. She nuzzled the girl's cheek, and Quinn gasped when Rachel's fingers began teasing through wet, slick softness._

"_I __**am**__ your girl," Rachel whispered against her ear._

Quinn dried herself off and quickly changed into her street clothes – jeans and a tee-shirt that she knew Rachel loved because it was a little tight-fitting. Rachel would lecture her about wearing such a tee-shirt in public, but Quinn also knew that the minute Rachel saw her in it, that little pink tongue would dart out and she'd lick her lips before pulling Quinn in for a kiss.

They had established an after-school ritual, which was why Quinn was more than a little irritated that Rachel hadn't been waiting for her at the bleachers. If Quinn had practice, Rachel would **always** wait for her (Coach Sylvester once remarked that Rachel was like a very loyal – yet lesbian – puppy) and she looked forward to nothing more than seeing Rachel smile and hear her utter that shy, quiet "Hey, beautiful" that she always greeted her with.

When Quinn didn't have practice and they just had glee, they had their own separate ritual for that, too. It was an unspoken agreement between them that because of Finn and Puck, they wouldn't sit together at glee, or act too… well, couple-y. Plus, as far as they knew, they were the only truly out lesbian couple at WMHS, since neither Santana nor Brittany seemed inclined to get their heads out of their asses and declare they'd been madly in love with each other since third grade. So they tried to keep a minimum on public affection. When Schuester was done giving his "life lesson of the day," Quinn would just wait in her seat until Rachel was finished animatedly talking to him about her next big idea. Then Schuester and the rest of the glee kids would be gone, and she would lean down and kiss Quinn, running a hand through her hair.

"Ready to go home, beautiful?"

Quinn was always ready.

"Santana?" Brittany said as they walked out towards the parking lot.

Santana linked their pinkies. "What?"

"I want a dog."

"We can't have a dog, Britt."

"But I want one."

"How about I get you a stuffed puppy dog?"

Brittany squealed and managed to clap her hands while still holding onto Santana's pinky.

"Can it be a weenie dog? I want a weenie dog!"

Santana smiled and shook her head; Quinn fought back a smirk.

"Whatever you want, Britt. We'll stop by the toy store on the way home."

"Yay!"

"Whipped," Quinn muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

"Fuck you," Santana muttered out of the corner of hers.

"I heard that, Santana," Brittany admonished.

Quinn's laughter faded as they made it outside to the nearly deserted parking lot. She tilted her head to look around, but didn't find the brown hair and deep brown eyes that she was looking for. Her brow furrowed with confusion. She pulled out her phone and checked her messages.

1 new message.

_Hi, baby! I'm headed to the bleachers now. – R_

Quinn felt a little surge of worry.

"Rachel ditch you?"

She shook her head. "She sent a text saying she was coming to the bleachers. But…"

Brittany looked around, then pointed ahead of them. "Hey, isn't that Rachel's backpack? Over by the dumpsters?"

Quinn didn't waste time answering Brittany's question. Her bag hit the ground with a thump and she was running. It was Rachel's bag, and there was… red…

_Oh, god. Oh, god no… Rachel…_

Then she was crying out for her, scrabbling to lift the dumpster open. Her hands trembling, she looked in.

"_Rachel!_"

Santana would tell her later that Quinn's scream was nothing like she'd ever heard before, and as badass as _she_ was, it sent a chill down her spine. It was animalistic, like the cry of a wolf that has lost its mate. Quinn was desperately trying to jump into the dumpster, but was crying and shaking so hard she couldn't get a footing to hoist herself up.

She barely registered Santana rushing past her and leaping into the dumpster.

"_Dios mio_," she whispered at the sight of Rachel's battered, bloody form crumpled on top of a week's worth of garbage. She crouched down and brushed red-spattered hair out of Rachel's eyes, and Rachel moaned. "What did they do to you, Rachel? Brittany!"

"Rachel," Quinn sobbed, taking in blood trickling from Rachel's forehead down into her eyes, bruises on her face and on her stomach where her shirt had ridden up.

Brittany was there, then, one arm around Quinn's waist and her other hand held to her mouth.

"I, I don't know if I should move her," Santana said, her hands lightly scanning over Rachel's arms and legs. "I don't _feel_ anything broken but—"

"Get her out of there!" Quinn shouted.

Santana slowly slipped her arms underneath Rachel's body, wincing when the girl moaned again in pain. "Hang on, Berry," she said, her voice surprisingly gentle, for once. "Quinn, call 911, god damn it! Brittany, help!"

Quinn whipped open her phone, dialing the numbers, her eyes never leaving Rachel. "There's so much blood," she mumbled. "Too much blood… Rachel…"

"911, what is your emergency?"

She was almost crying too hard to talk. "Yes, um, I need an ambulance, I – oh god, _Rachel_ – my girl… my _friend_," Quinn shut her eyes briefly. "She's hurt… bad… Bleeding. Oh god, Brittany be _careful!_ I'm at William McKinley High School, the parking lot by the dumpsters. Please hurry!"

Brittany cradled Rachel in her arms. Rather than lowering her to the hard asphalt, she simply sat down, holding Rachel as gently as if she were a doll. Santana hopped out of the dumpster, breathing heavily, and caught Quinn as she went down, helping her into a kneeling position in front of Rachel.

"Rachel," she said softly. Rachel didn't move or open her eyes. "Rachel," she said more firmly. "Rachel, open your eyes for me. _Baby_, _please…_ open your eyes, please Rachel…"

"Quinn?"

Her heart leapt when Rachel's eyelids fluttered and those brown eyes came into view, unfocused and hazy. "Rach, wake up," she said, taking Rachel's hand as carefully as possible. "You need to stay awake, sweetheart."

"Uh uh," Rachel mumbled, and tugged on Quinn's hand. "'m sleepy. Come back to bed… wanna sleep." Her eyes closed.

In a blind panic, Quinn shook her, and Santana's hands grabbed her forearms, stopping her. "No, Rachel, you have to stay awake, come on now, please." She felt some relief when she heard the call of the ambulance in the distance, but it was taking too _long_, why hadn't they gotten there yet? There was blood, so much blood, on her clothes and on her hands, in her hair because she'd been sweating and it kept getting in her eyes and she needed to _see_, needed to see Rachel and what they had done to her.

Who were _they_? She'd kill them.

"Quinn," Rachel said again, her voice sounding as if it was coming from someone else.

"Yes, baby, stay awake," she pleaded.

"'m sorry, Quinn… so sorry…. love…"

Her head lolled to the side as her eyes closed again. Quinn's wail matched that of the ambulance, pulling up next to them. She jumped up and practically yanked the paramedic out of the vehicle, staining his shirt with Rachel's blood.

"Help her," she hissed, feeling herself go limp when Santana pulled her off and held her from behind, pinning Quinn's arms to her chest.

Brittany didn't want to let Rachel go, but she let the paramedic lift her out of her arms, and place her on the board. A brace was whipped out and put on her neck, and Quinn moaned in terror. What if moving her had made it worse?

_She'd kill them_.

"Code three," one paramedic said to the other. He lowered his voice, but Quinn heard him anyway.

"Might be a head injury."

"What does that mean?" she begged. "What does that mean?"

But they were carrying Rachel to the stretcher and up into the back of the ambulance. Quinn rushed over, prepared to climb in with her, but the paramedic stopped her.

"No, honey, we need all the room we've got here."

"I'm not letting you leave without me!"

Once again Santana was at her side, and Brittany was holding her back. "You'll ride with us," Santana said, her face ashen as she watched the ambulance doors close, and the ambulance drive off with an unconscious Rachel Berry.

She turned to Quinn. "You need to call her dads."

_Oh, god._ Her dads.

Quinn let Brittany propel her to her car, put her in the front seat, and fasten her belt buckle. She kissed Quinn's forehead before hopping into the backseat. Only when she looked down at her hands and saw Rachel's blood beneath her fingernails did Brittany allow herself to cry, her head pressed against the window.

Quinn toyed with her phone, unable to move, or to get the images of Rachel out of her mind. Santana reached over and took the phone.

"I'll call them when we get there. I guess I'll have to call the school, too, to let them know Rachel's hu—to let them know what happened."

Quinn nodded as Santana started the car, then reached over to clasp her hand as they pulled out of the parking lot in the direction of the hospital.

"She'll be all right."

"We don't know that."

_No_, Santana thought, focusing on the road and not on her red-tinged hands gripping the steering wheel.

_We don't_.

She took in the sound of Brittany crying in the backseat, and out of the corner of her eye she could see Quinn, her eyes closed and mouth moving silently. She knew Quinn was praying.

Santana just hoped it wasn't too late for prayers.


	2. Extinguish

**Warning: This story contains harsh language and some pretty graphic violence for the first couple of chapters. Read at your own discretion.**

* * *

It's amazing, how a period of time as short as a year can produce such changes. Rachel thought about this as she _at last_ heard the bell signaling the end of the school day, and made her way through the crowd towards her locker.

A year ago she was at the bottom of the totem pole, the last rung on the social ladder that was William McKinley High School. It only took a week or so for her to become well acquainted with the contours of the inside of a dumpster, and the quickest way to anchor herself against a corner, small feet firmly planted on top of a hastily-piled mound of garbage (she was short, after all), to push open the lid. It took two weeks of varying flavors each day for her to decide that grape was the best, but also the hardest to get out of clothes and hair. But that was easily remedied – she just remembered to bring a change of clothes every day, so that in the _very likely_ event that she got slushied, she'd simply be able to go to the restroom and wash herself, putting on new clothes and ready to face whatever the rest of the day brought her. Which… well, it usually brought her another slushie.

But that was okay. She was Rachel Barbra Berry, and she had her voice, her dads, and her extensive collection of Streisand dvds and cds to comfort her. And okay, so maybe her dads weren't around all _that_ often. But when they were, it was game nights and quiet talks over dinner, and that was enough. And maybe her voice cracked a little when she sang along with Barbra, because she'd remembered a particularly cutting insult before being thrown into a dumpster, but she'd square her shoulders, and hit the next note _perfectly_. And yes, maybe it was… kind of lonely, to sit downstairs on the couch wrapped in a big blanket, with her dads out of town and her house empty, a bowl of popcorn that only she would be eating from on the table, as she watched _Funny Girl_ for the eight millionth time, alone, on a Friday night.

Rachel had had to concede that _that_… was depressing.

The worst part of it, though? Rachel's head had begun to turn every time she heard a certain set of words, called out to her in a crowded hallway, or spoken in an empty bathroom.

Man hands.

Treasure trail.

RuPaul.

It wasn't the words themselves that so unnerved her; it was the _source_ of those words.

Quinn Fabray.

"_Purple looks good on you, man hands."_

_Rachel didn't look at the blonde cheerleader standing next to her, with a hand on her hip and a smirk on her face. She simply grabbed some paper towels, wiping her face and then __**attempting**__ to wring some of the corn syrup out of her hair before washing it._

"_I'd even say it makes those goodwill rejects you call clothes look a little bit better."_

_Rachel sighed. "You know, Quinn, I'm sorry that you have so very little to do in your life other than make mine miserable. But you can rest assured that when I'm a star on Broadway and you're still in Lima, I won't be remembering anything you've ever said to me, and I certainly won't have any sympathy for how sad your life was, or how sad it will continue to be."_

"_Listen to me, __**tranny**__." Rachel winced when Quinn practically hissed the emphasis of that last word. "You're a loser, and you're always going to be a loser. I don't even __**care**__ if you make it to Broadway – you're still going to be a social retard who looks like her mother dresses her." Quinn's lips twisted cruelly; it was common knowledge that Rachel had two dads and no mother. "And another thing, treasure trail: stay the hell away from my boyfriend."_

_Quinn spun on her heel and left the bathroom, laughing._

_Rachel looked at her reflection in the mirror, scrubbed the tears that had begun to form away with her knuckles, and set about cleaning herself up._

_She was Rachel Berry, and this was __**not**__ going to break her. She was __**not**__ going to be torn down by Quinn Fabray._

_Even if, as each day went by, she felt more of herself tearing away._

It was hard when one person's goal was to make Rachel Berry's life miserable, in every way possible.

It was even harder when Rachel developed a crush on that person.

Rachel had, admittedly, taken a little satisfaction in Quinn Fabray's fall from grace after Beth began making her presence known underneath the (now former) cheerleader's clothes. The day that Quinn had shown up in dark sunglasses and had taken a full extra-large slushie to the face made Rachel secretly wish they could declare it a holiday. For a while it was fun to watch Quinn implode her life around herself… at least until Rachel saw her in the hallway after Finn had found out – after Rachel had _told_ Finn – that he was not the father of Quinn's baby. Quinn's face had lost its former guarded, icy look, and now she seemed… vulnerable, with tears in her eyes and uncertainty in her voice.

Rachel was pretty sure that she fell for her right then.

What followed seemed to be an endless trail of Quinn fucking up her own life: from getting herself kicked out of multiple houses, to going into labor after they had performed at regionals, to giving her baby up for adoption. The last two, maybe they weren't so much Quinn fucking up her life, but the _aftermath_ of it all? Rachel had been surprised, in the last few days of school before it let out for the summer, to see that Quinn seemed to have… disappeared inside herself. True, she still sat with Kurt and Mercedes, and occasionally talked to Santana or Brittany (mostly Brittany, as Santana was too busy enjoying her newfound status as Head Bitch in Charge), but other than that, her mouth didn't open unless it was to sing, and she walked through the halls with her head down.

One day Rachel had needed to use the bathroom, and a simple, everyday occurrence morphed into something that changed everything. She made her way to that very same bathroom to wash her face – unaware that three boys were lurking, just around the corner.

Waiting for her.

_The door swung open, and Rachel stilled. Catching sight of the standard white tennis shoes, she groaned inwardly. A Cheerio. Well, she'd just stay until the girl touched up her makeup or peed or whatever, and then she'd leave, letting Rachel escape without any repercussions._

_Except, this particular Cheerio didn't seem intent on leaving. What she __**was**__ intent on was trying to control the sobs that wracked her body. Rachel pasted her forehead to the narrow crack in the stall door and gasped a little when she saw that the girl in white shoes wasn't a Cheerio - it was Quinn._

_Quinn, hands gripping the middle sink, head bent low and shoulders shaking with the force of her tears. She was mumbling, and Rachel strained to hear what it was._

"_Beth… so sorry… I'm sorry…"_

_Rachel closed her eyes, feeling tears rush to them. Despite all the damage Quinn had managed to do to her before her pregnancy and throughout, this was __**pain**__, and apparently, Quinn wasn't doing a very good job of coping. She wanted to rush out of the stall, to keep Quinn from hyperventilating, to maybe… she didn't know what, to tell her everything would be okay? She wanted to take Quinn in her arms and kiss away her tears…_

_Wait, what?_

_When Quinn finally got control of herself and left the bathroom about ten minutes later, Rachel exited the stall and stared at her reflection in the mirror, like she had done so many times after a slushy facial. A plan slowly began to formulate in her head._

_Operation Cheer Up the (ex) Cheerio was about to begin._

There was no way, though, that she was going to tell her nemesis and relentless tormenter that she might be developing a big old gay crush on her.

But now, things were so vastly different. As for her position on the social ladder? Rachel was fairly content that she was somewhere in the middle. There were no more slushies (just eggs, which hadn't counted because it had been at the hands of a different school), and if she heard any of the three epithets that had been thrown at her before, it was only because Santana seemed hell-bent on reminding Rachel of her place. However, as Rachel told Quinn once (to Quinn's utter amusement), "It becomes rather ineffective to remind me of my place, when I'm content in that place. Really, I would advise Santana to give up, but I doubt 'give up' is in her vocabulary, and besides, I rather like my nose the way it is."

Yes, Rachel Berry was very content with her _place_ on the middle rung of William McKinley High School's social ladder. She was content because Quinn Fabray was at the top of that ladder once again, and the light she had chosen to shine down on Rachel had turned out to be more than enough.

Rachel exited the bathroom and pulled her phone out of her bag, flipping it open and grinning at the smiling Quinn that stared up at her. Quickly her fingers danced over the keypad, sending a text.

_Hi, baby! I'm headed to the bleachers now. – R_

She tucked her phone back into her bag and felt giddy as she headed in the direction of the stadium, excited to see Quinn's smile, her face covered in a fine sheen of sweat (which normally Rachel thought disgusting, on anyone else; but on Quinn? It was like a drug) and breathing hard from a serious workout. Rachel would deny it if Quinn ever teased her, but both of them knew that Rachel thought her girlfriend was hottest right after kicking ass on the stadium field. Well, okay, she was hottest right after sex, but right after practice was a very close second.

"Hey, Rachel!" An arm that was distinctly masculine slipped around her shoulders, and Rachel froze.

"What's up?" the guy in the red jacket said, smiling down at her. She didn't recognize him – or the two others that were with him.

"I'm headed to the stadium," Rachel managed to say firmly, wrangling herself out from under the hulking mass of boy that was next to her. "I have important things to do, so no time to, uh, spend with you guys – which I'm sure I'd love to do… if I knew you at all, of course. Which, I don't. So if you'll excuse me, I have to go."

She felt a hand grasp her arm, roughly. "Yeah," the guy said, his cheerful face transforming into a snarl, "I don't think so, Berry."

She opened her mouth to scream and he covered it with his hand, laughing as he began to half-walk, half-drag her out of the school, in the direction of the dumpsters.

_Rachel sat on Quinn's bed, her English book open in front of her. She didn't __**really**__ care about Romeo and Juliet having to fight social norms to declare their love for each other. Instead, she was more captivated by the fact that Quinn was sitting across from her, Indian-style, her knee just touching Rachel's._

_Bare knee against bare knee had sent heat rushing through Rachel, stopping to pool just under her belly._

_Quinn chewed absently on the end of her pencil, then quickly etched out the solution to the calculus problem before her. Her eyes scanned the page as Rachel watched her, pretending to concentrate on "Two households, both alike in dignity," while paying a considerable amount of attention to the way Quinn's tongue swirled around the pencil eraser. She jerked her eyes away when she found herself wondering what that pink tongue would feel like swirling around various parts of her anatomy._

_Rachel turned back to Shakespeare, pausing to tuck a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. She looked up then, feeling as if she was being watched. Her brown eyes met Quinn's hazel ones. They were… peaceful. Rachel was grateful that the storm that had been in Quinn's eyes seemed to have calmed down, somewhat._

_Quinn smiled at her._

_Rachel smiled back, and returned to the story of ill-fated lovers._

She was being dragged through the parking lot, towards the dumpsters. This filled her with annoyance, because she had only _just_ went shopping with Quinn, who insisted on taking her to buy clothes because, as Quinn said, "If I have to look at that damn owl on your chest one more time, I'm going to go postal." While part of Rachel considered how hot that would be, the other part of her remembered how angry Quinn could get, and she decided to give in. Now it seemed as though the lilac-colored skirt and white shirt were going to be baptized with the week's garbage.

William McKinley High School emptied out fairly quickly after the last bell had sounded, so the parking lot was nearly desolate except for cars that belonged to Cheerios, and various teachers who were pulling after-work grading sessions, or supervising detention. Rachel thought about the phone in her bag and reached to unzip it.

One of the other boys – black hair and a sneer plastered on his face – jerked it out of her hands and tossed it to the ground.

Rachel ran a nervous hand through her hair, scanning the lot for anyone who might be able to help her. But this area was pretty well unseen, and there was no one. She summoned all the courage she had, and raised her chin in defiance.

"Well, then, how can I be of service to you _gentlemen_?"

They laughed, cold, cruel. The biggest one – red hair, a scar on his forehead – stepped forward with a swagger.

"I know what you can do," he said, and grabbed his crotch, thrusting it lewdly at Rachel as his friends hooted. "You can service _this_."

Rachel felt a chill run through her. Dear god, she thought, I have no idea what to do. She relied on the only thing she had – her attitude.

"I'm afraid I didn't bring my magnifying glass and tweezers, so I'd probably have a little trouble finding… _that_."

It was the wrong thing to rely on, and the wrong thing to say.

She felt her lip split as the back of the red-haired boy's hand connected with her mouth.

"_Rachel?"_

_They were lying together in Rachel's bed, Quinn having asked if she could stay with her tonight. They were close, arms and legs pressed together as they lay on their backs, staring up at the ceiling. She had almost started to drift off to sleep when Quinn's voice roused her._

"_Yes, Quinn?"_

_There was a pause. When Quinn spoke again her voice was soft, mournful._

"_I'm sorry."_

_Rachel turned on her side facing Quinn. She couldn't see her, but from the sound of her voice, she was crying. She reached out and dared to place her hand on Quinn's stomach. She felt her tense up, then relax._

"_Sorry about what?"_

_Another pause, this one longer than the first. Rachel found the courage to begin rubbing slow, soft circles on Quinn's stomach._

"_For… everything. Being mean to you. Calling you names, throwing slushies at you. Making your life… miserable."_

_Rachel sighed, her hand stilling. They hadn't spoken of this in the time that Quinn had been living in her house, and, to be honest, she hadn't really wanted to. But clearly Quinn wanted to make amends; clearly she needed some absolution from what she thought were some of her most grievous sins. Rachel had always imagined getting back at her, making her regret everything she had ever done to the petite diva with brown hair and an incredible voice._

_She hadn't counted on that regret making her heart ache._

"_It's all right…"_

"_No, it's not all right," Quinn interrupted, sounding bitter. "I was such a bitch to you."_

"_Yes, you were," Rachel agreed, and she heard Quinn snort. "But… you're not now. You've more than made up for the way you treated me then."_

"_Have I?" she whispered, and the sad tone in her voice was something that sounded a little like hope._

"_Yes," Rachel said, smiling even though Quinn couldn't see it. "You have."_

_When Quinn at last fell asleep, Rachel hesitated, but then moved to drape her arm around Quinn's waist._

_Yes, she thought. This __**definitely**__ makes slushies worth it._

Rachel yelped in pain and struggled to remain on her feet; she brought her hand to her mouth and when she pulled it away, it was covered in blood. Her blood. Her eyes flashed in shock and then in anger.

"How dare you?" she hissed. "When my dads find out about this, they'll have the ACLU on your ass so hard and you'll never—"

He shoved her against the dumpster, and her head bounced on the corner, making stars appear before her eyes. "Shut up, Berry," he growled, "Do you really think that any of us are afraid of your _faggot_ dads?"

Rachel grunted when a fist landed on her stomach. She doubled over, gasping for air, the sound of laughter filling her ears.

"Please," she wheezed.

"'Please,'" one of them mocked. "What the fuck are you begging for, _dyke_?"

"Please don't do this…"

She opened her mouth to scream, and a slap connected with her jaw.

She slumped to the ground.

_Quinn's lips were on Rachel's, soft and gentle. She pulled away, her eyes probing the other girl's, silently asking if it was okay. She looked so nervous, so frightened, so… beautiful. And Rachel wanted her kisses more than she'd wanted anything else in her life up to that point. (Well, besides a Tony, but Tonys were just metal, now, compared to Quinn's mouth on hers.)_

_Rachel nodded, and Quinn's mouth captured her again, more firmly this time, and Rachel sighed into her lips. Her eyes were closed but she felt the upward quirk of a smile, and she blushed. Opening her eyes, she gazed into Quinn's hazel ones, and that same heat that always seemed to rush through her anytime they were together came back with a vengeance._

_Rachel moved so that suddenly, she was on top of Quinn, and she felt dizzy with happiness at the small gasp that escaped her throat. Lowering her head, she kissed her with all the pent-up frustration of a 16-year-old girl who had a crush on her mortal enemy. She smiled when Quinn opened her mouth, and Rachel gently, tenderly slipped her tongue inside and searched for her._

_She soon found her, and it was…_

_It was… everything._

"Get up!" he jerked Rachel to her feet and she wavered, unsteadily. He spat in her face, then grinned – a feral, evil expression on his face and in his eyes.

"You know what I'm going to do to you, dyke?" he hissed. His hands went to his zipper.

The sound of it opening was like a gun going off in Rachel's ear.

"I'm going to show you what a _real_ _man_ is like."

"No, please no," she whimpered. "Oh, please don't, please…"

"Yo, Peterson," Rachel heard, as if from far off, and somehow in her pain-induced haze she forced herself to remember it.

"What?" He was advancing on her, his fly open, and his hand just… about… to slide…

Rachel closed her eyes.

"Hey, I said I was okay with roughing her up a little bit, but look man, I'm not a rapist. I'm not cool with that shit."

"Fine," he snapped, backing off, and she heard the zipper close. "Leave it to you to be a fucking chickenshit, Randolph."

Randolph.

Rachel tried to run.

They caught her easily, and she was slammed against the corner of the locker again. This time, she felt something begin to trickle down the back of her head, as another slap connected with the other side of her jaw.

_She held Quinn close, waiting until the girl's trembling and shuddering for breath had subsided. She turned to Rachel, her eyes wide and shining._

"_I never," she said, her voice a little strained from the efforts of the evening. "Not even… with Puck. Never… before you."_

_Rachel smiled and traced her fingers over Quinn's naked stomach and down her leg. "I'm glad," she confessed, blushing a little. "I'm glad that I could at least be the first to… give you that."_

_Quinn's hair was sweaty and splayed out on the pillow behind her, her lips were flushed and full, and her eyes… Rachel didn't think she could ever get tired of looking at Quinn's eyes. The entire time her gaze had stayed locked on Rachel's, as if, somehow, she thought that by looking away, the whole thing might vanish, like a dream…_

_Rachel knew exactly how she felt._

_Then she was the one against the pillows, with Quinn hovering just over her, dropping kisses and soft gentle touches over every inch of Rachel's skin, smiling when the girl moaned, and chuckling when her finger grazed a nipple and Rachel practically flew off the bed. _

"_I'm glad you find this funny," Rachel snapped, but was giggling. "It's not like I have any experience in this."_

"_Shhh," Quinn kissed her. "You're doing fine… more than fine… you're beautiful, Rachel…"_

_Rachel was content to stop talking then, guiding Quinn with her sighs and groans, and when she felt Quinn's hand slip between her legs, her eyes fluttered shut and she lifted her hips into the touch._

"_It… it's going to hurt," Quinn said uncertainly, her finger just barely there, touching the wetness and heat. "I don't want to hurt you."_

"_It's okay," Rachel said; at that point she was so desperate to feel Quinn she would have agreed to anything. "I trust you… Please, Quinn."_

_Quinn slipped up so that she was lying next to Rachel, looking into her eyes. She kissed her gently, not moving her mouth away from Rachel's as one finger dipped ever so slowly inside her. She paused, hearing Rachel's sharp intake of breath, wincing. She waited until Rachel nodded, and began to move her finger, her heart lifting when the pain left Rachel's face and little whimpers of pleasure touched her lips. _

"_You feel so good," Rachel murmured, tucking her head against Quinn's neck._

_Quinn watched in wonder as Rachel's hips began to rise to match every movement of her hand. Pressing her lips close to Rachel's ear she whispered, "I love you…"_

Rachel collapsed on the ground.

The red-haired guy bent low over her.

"Listen to me, you fucking dyke," he shouted. "You take you, and that other fucking rugmuncher, and get the _fuck_ out of my school. And take that goddamned fairy Kurt with you!"

He kicked her in the back and Rachel groaned, trying to curl herself into a ball. Her head hurt, her head hurt so massively bad, and she wanted Quinn, she wanted Quinn and where was Quinn?

She wanted her daddies.

"Let's put her in the dumpster," she heard someone say. "That's where she belongs, with the rest of the trash."

She felt herself being lifted up… tossed… something slammed and the light of day was gone.

Everything went black.

"_You love me?" Rachel managed to say, after she had caught her breath._

_Quinn's body was still slick with sweat and sex as she turned slightly, wrapping her arm around Rachel's waist and pulling the naked girl against her. She was quiet, and Rachel was afraid that she'd just made the biggest mistake she could have possibly made._

"_I love you," Quinn said, and her eyes were a little fearful. "I don't know how it happened, but… yeah. I love you."_

_Rachel smiled and snuggled into her. "It's just part of my charm," she said, and yawned a little. Quinn was warm, soft… this was something new to Rachel, having someone to hold her, having someone to love without that person wanting something else in return._

_Quinn rolled her eyes and hugged her, cuddling them both into the pillows. "Maybe we should get some sleep, hmm?" Rachel hummed against her throat. "I think we've had quite a workout today."_

_Quinn closed her eyes._

"_Quinn?"_

_She opened them and found Rachel staring at her._

"_What is it, Rach?"_

_Rachel licked her lips and swallowed hard. "I love you too."_

"Rachel!"

She stirred at the sound. "Quinn?" she tried to say, but her voice came as little more than a croak.

Something hard was poking her in the back. Why would something be poking her in the back, if she was in bed? And why was Quinn sounding as if she were miles away, when she was just right next to Rachel?

The light came back. And it _hurt_.

"What did they do to you?"

Okay, why was _Santana_ in their bed? Rachel wanted to get up and ask her girlfriend what the hell was going on, but her head was too heavy… her legs wouldn't move…

She was being lifted again… someone's arms… so soft….

But not Quinn's.

"Call 911! Brittany!"

Oh. Brittany. What was Brittany doing there? Oh, right, Santana was there.

"Rachel… open your eyes… _baby, please_…"

"Quinn?"

Fading in and out… Quinn. Definitely Quinn's voice. Rachel tried to open her eyes. It was as if she was looking through a telescope, but she saw Quinn, blonde hair and green of her eyes, looking down at her. But why did she want Rachel to wake up? She wondered. The bed was so soft, and she was so tired… so tired. Her girlfriend's hand in hers was warm, gentle.

"'m sleepy. Come back to bed. Wanna sleep."

"No… stay awake… now…"

Oh, no. Quinn was mad. Why had she made Quinn mad? What had she done that Quinn was so angry with her? Rachel didn't want Quinn to be mad at her. She struggled, wanting to get up, to hold Quinn and tell her not to be mad… but her legs wouldn't move and her head hurt and would somebody just turn that damn light off because it was hurting her eyes…

"'m sorry, Quinn… so sorry…. love…"

Rachel loved her so much. She didn't want Quinn to be angry with her. She just wanted to sleep.

She thought she heard Quinn scream with rage as she slowly drifted off.


	3. Flicker

It had already been a rough day in the emergency room when the door slammed open _again_, and the nurse at the desk sighed. The sigh faded though, as she looked up and found herself confronted with two hysterical blonde teenagers and one non-hysterical, but terrified-looking brunette. All three of them were covered in blood.

She jumped up and rushed over to them, ushering them into three seats in the (thankfully) now-empty waiting room. The smaller of the two blondes clutched at her shoulder, fingers twisting in the material of her scrubs.

"Rachel," she managed to say around her sobs, "Where's Rachel?"

"Where are you hurt?" The nurse asked, scanning her eyes over the girl's body. "What happened, honey?"

"We're not hurt," the brunette said slowly, her voice sounding distant and… bruised, almost. It was an eerie sound, and she shuddered.

"Rachel Berry," said the taller blonde girl, also crying, and the nurse watched as the brunette slipped an arm around her and hugged her. "She's our friend."

"So you girls aren't hurt?" The nurse said. There didn't appear to be any _visible_ wounds, she thought, but who knew what might be lurking under the surface?

The first blonde shook her head and took a deep breath, trying to control her tears. "Rachel Berry," she said again. "They brought her in by ambulance."

Ah, yes. The tiny brunette girl, covered in blood, her face bruised… the little girl who could say nothing to the nurses about what had happened to her, the girl who could only say one name.

Quinn.

She nodded, and knelt down in front of the girl. "What's your name, honey?"

The girl swallowed. "Quinn."

She glanced at the other two.

"Santana."

"I'm Brittany."

"Okay." She looked back at Quinn. "Are you her family, sweetie?"

The hesitation was fleeting, but it was there, nonetheless. "Yes. I'm her… sister."

The nurse eyed the lithe blonde, raising an eyebrow.

"Adopted?" Quinn offered, meeting her gaze with tear-clouded hazel eyes.

The nurse sighed. "We need to get in contact with Rachel's family."

But she _was_ family… Quinn had heard stories about situations like this, where gay or lesbian couples had been separated at the hospital due to policies about "family," and sometimes… sometimes one of them died without the other being there, or without having even been told. She couldn't bear it if something… if Rachel _died_… and she wasn't there with her.

"Please," Quinn said, her voice quiet and lost. "Please don't keep me away from her."

The nurse placed her hand on Quinn's knee, looking at her kindly. "Honey, it's obvious that you mean something to the girl; she hasn't stopped saying your name since she got here."

"Then she's okay?" Quinn dared to ask, her heart thrilling – just a little bit – that Rachel was awake. And asking for _her_.

"We need to get in touch with her parents," the nurse said yet again, and Quinn didn't miss the implication of her not answering the question.

"I'll call them," Santana said, getting up from her chair and pulling Quinn's phone out of her pocket. "I'll call Figgins, too, I guess… Wait, I don't have his number."

"Call Mr. Schue," Brittany suggested. "He'll know what to do."

Santana nodded and pushed through the glass door into the outside, the phone already at her ear.

"Please tell me that she's okay," Quinn whispered.

The nurse patted her knee and stood up. "Why don't you go to the bathroom and clean off the bl… clean yourself up." She smiled reassuringly at Quinn, but the blonde girl wasn't buying it.

Still, she went into the bathroom and stood at the sink, looking at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red and puffy, swollen from all her crying. Her blonde hair was plastered to her forehead, dried with sweat and tears and… red. Rachel's blood had dried in her hair. Quinn choked back a sob, raising her hand to stifle the sound in her mouth, but losing control when she saw the bright red running from her palm to her wrist. She collapsed onto the floor, holding onto the sink.

"Hey, hey," Santana said, instantly behind her and lifting her up. "Hold it together, Quinn, come on."

Santana and Quinn had had a… contentious relationship ever since they were in grade school. It was a constant tug of war between each of them trying to best the other, but not having anyone else to rely on if the shit chose to hit the fan. It was an interesting dynamic, that these two could absolutely hate each other, but at the same time, knew that the other would always be there. It was because of this dynamic that Quinn let Santana wrap her arms around her, and she buried her face in the shorter girl's shoulder as she cried.

"What if she… what if she…" She couldn't even voice her terror. Rachel, dying?

No. She couldn't let herself think that.

Santana didn't have an answer, anyway. She squeezed Quinn, then pushed the girl away from her, lightly. "Come on," she said. "Rachel's dads are on their way. Let's get ourselves cleaned up so they don't see…" She hesitated. "Let's just get cleaned up."

Santana still found it a little amazing, that her best friend slash biggest rival was dating… _manhands_, of all people. Quinn could have her choice of any boy – or girl, for that matter – at WMHS, and she chose _Berry_?

"_She makes me happy."_

_Santana looked at her, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. "Berry. Makes you happy. The hell? I think Sylvester's diet has damaged your brain."_

_Quinn sighed, shaking her head, a little smile toying at the edge of her lips. "No, seriously, S. Rachel Berry makes me happy."_

"_You mind telling me how manhands makes you happy?"_

"_First of all, they're not manhands. They're soft and delicate, and the things they do—"_

_Santana threw up a hand. "Okay, you can stop there, really."_

_Quinn tilted her head, resting her chin on her hand. How __**did**__ Rachel make her happy?_

"_I don't know," she was forced to finally say. "She just… does. She knows me. Sometimes I feel like she's the only one who really knows me."_

Once they had washed all the blood off their hands – their clothes would have to wait – Santana and Quinn exited the bathroom. Quinn sat back in her seat, feeling suddenly exhausted. Santana extended her hand to Brittany and led her into the bathroom. It wasn't long until she could hear Brittany's heartbreaking sobs, and Santana's voice, gentle and sweet, soothing her. She sighed, resting her head against the back of the chair, and closed her eyes.

Rachel's battered image danced behind her eyelids. Her head and heart were so full of images of Rachel, little snippets of light gathered throughout their short relationship: Rachel smiling, Rachel singing, Rachel crying at the end of a movie, Rachel's face as Quinn's hands took her over the edge and lovingly brought her back…

"_It's like a jigsaw puzzle: when the pieces fit, everything comes together."_

Rachel's face, bruised and bloody, didn't fit into the carefully constructed puzzle Quinn had begun with her.

She was seventeen years old, but she felt much, much older. She was supposed to be at home with Rachel, studying or doing homework, or watching a movie, having game night with her dads. Or she was supposed to be out with Santana and Brittany, hanging out at Breadstix wolfing down pasta and laughing at something that happened at practice that day.

She wasn't supposed to be sitting in an emergency room, her tee-shirt fading red into a dull brown, waiting to find out if her girlfriend was going to make it.

Santana came out of the bathroom, her arm securely around a sniffling Brittany's waist, and they sat down. A short time later the emergency room door was thrown open, and all hell broke loose.

Figgins, followed by Shue, followed by Rachel's dads.

"What happened?"

"What has happened? Where is Rachel?"

"Quinn?"

The last voice was Rob, one of Rachel's dads. His face infinitely kind and gentle, he knelt down in front of her. She took one look at him, and launched herself into his arms, sobbing. She heard Santana and Brittany talking to Schuester and Figgins, heard Patrick, Rachel's other dad, talking to the nurse at her desk. All Quinn could do was cling to Rob, wetting his blue shirt with her tears, Rachel's image swimming in her eyes.

Finally she pulled back and he smiled at her, handing her a tissue. He didn't seem to mind that Quinn had cried all over him, just got up to sit in the chair next to her (Santana and Brittany now talking to Figgins and Schue outside to give the two dads and Quinn time alone) and slipped his arm around her, sighing.

Patrick came back from the nurses' desk and sat on the other side of Quinn. "She wouldn't tell me anything. Said the doctor will come out shortly and let us know… something."

None of them wanted to think about what that something might be.

Patrick looked over at Quinn. "What happened, honey?" he asked softly.

"I don't know," Quinn admitted. "I was… god, I was at _practice_." She hated herself, suddenly. "If I hadn't been at fucking _practice_…"

"Hey," Rob held up his hand. "Rachel doesn't need us playing the blame game right now. And you know it's not your fault. So… you were at practice."

Quinn nodded. "And Rachel always… she always meets me at the bleachers, you know, when I have practice. But she wasn't there, so… we got finished and I took a shower and—" Quinn's words began to spill forth in a ragged, convoluted mess. "And she wasn't out in the parking lot so I checked my messages and she'd said she was going to the bleachers, then Brittany saw her backpack on the ground and there was… blood… on it and around it. And then I opened the dumpster—"

"Rachel was in the dumpster again?"

Quinn winced at "again." Those had been her fault, too.

"Yeah. She had… bruises all over her. She was… covered in blood. God…"

"And you didn't see anyone else?" Rob's voice was harsh with his own pain; his daughter had been through hell for most of her entire high school experience, and though it had trailed off once Quinn had started dating her, he was not happy with the idea that it might be starting again.

Quinn shook her head. "I didn't see _anything_. Just Rachel."

They fell into uneasy silence, then, with Santana, Brittany, and the other two men coming in and taking various seats in the waiting room. Santana and Brittany sat across the floor, and Brittany's hand clutched the Latina's so hard her knuckles were turning white. Santana seemed not to notice that her circulation was probably being cut off by Brittany's grasp.

Quinn had never faced anything like this. She had never had any of her family… hurt this way. Sure, she'd lost both sets of her grandparents, but she had been too young to understand the ramifications of it. This… she wasn't sure how to deal with it. And when Quinn didn't know how to deal with something, the only solution she had was to try to find someone who did.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," she said to Rob and Patrick, who just nodded. She walked up to the nurse's desk. "Excuse me. Is there a chapel in this hospital?"

It was little more than a converted conference room, with no outward evidence of the chapel's purpose (to make it suitable for all faiths, she figured) other than a notebook up front on a table, where people could write prayer requests, and a lone Bible. But it was quiet and Quinn could close the door to be alone with her thoughts until she found some sort of clarity.

Despite everything, there were two constants that served to anchor Quinn in the roller coaster that was sometimes her life: Rachel, and her faith. She supposed as a teenaged lesbian who had had sex out of wedlock – with a boy _and_ a girl – and also had gotten pregnant, only to give up the daughter at birth, she wasn't necessarily the poster child for Roman Catholicism. Still, she hadn't abandoned God, and she hadn't taken off the crucifix she wore around her neck. It was a different kind of faith for her, now, though; she no longer felt the responsibility of adhering to celibacy clubs and weekly confessions. Instead, it was a quiet… peace that she had found, a reliance on something that wasn't her, Quinn Fabray, who, even though she had Rachel, sometimes needed something _bigger_ than herself.

And Rachel had understood.

"_Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women and—"_

"_Do you want to go to church?"_

_Quinn jumped, startled out of her prayers, the rosary slipping through her fingers and onto the bed. She got up from her kneeling position and turned to face Rachel._

"_What?"_

_Rachel scuffed at the carpet with her shoe. "I didn't mean to interrupt you," she said honestly, "But… well. I mean, I'm Jewish, and my dads and I, we don't go to temple except on the major holidays, you know, kind of like you Jesus people sometimes do." She caught Quinn's amused grin, and smiled. "You're different from them, though."_

_Quinn took a deep breath as the shorter girl approached her, then wrapped her arms around her waist, resting her head on Quinn's chest. "What do you mean, I'm different?"_

_Rachel shrugged. "It's not just a belief for you." She gestured towards the rosary on the bed. "I've seen you pray a couple of times. I've watched you."_

"_Okay, that's a little stalkery, Berry. Don't go all Edward on me."_

_Rachel thumped her head against Quinn in indignation, and Quinn chuckled low in her throat, kissing Rachel's soft, fragrant hair._

"_When you pray," Rachel whispered, "It's… beautiful. It's like, your heart and soul are so fully __**in**__ it, like… you just trust in what you're saying, and who you're saying it to."_

_Quinn nodded. "I do."_

"_So I thought that, as weird and potentially traumatizing as it will be for your Jewish lesbian girlfriend, we could go to church together Sunday."_

_Quinn rolled her eyes at Rachel's hyperbole, then sobered, catching the deeper meaning behind the humor. "You'd go to church with me?"_

"_Probably just once," Rachel admitted, "so that you can get acquainted with the church and the people? And after that, you know, if you want to start going regularly, you can. I don't mind."_

"_How," Quinn said, pressing herself to Rachel with a kiss, "Did I get so lucky to have you?" Rachel grinned, turning pink. "I'd love it if we could go to church together. Even if it is just once."_

"_No problem," Rachel said. "I'll get on the computer right now and start researching some churches in the area where… um…" She didn't say it, but Quinn knew what she meant. Where your parents don't go. She nodded. "And then we'll go! Just, you know, don't ask me to start worshipping Mary or anything."_

"_We don't worship Mary," Quinn said, exasperated. Really, when would people ever learn?_

"_It's a good thing, too," Rachel said, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Really, riled-up Quinn was __**hot**__._

_Quinn quirked an eyebrow at her, moving back to sit on the bed, fingers trailing idly over the blue beads and silver chain._

"_What? You listen to __**your**__ girlfriend tell Mary fifty-three times how 'full of grace' she is, and see how jealous __**you**__ get."_

_Rachel ducked the pillow Quinn threw at her and tackled her girlfriend on the bed, both of them laughing._

Old habits die hard, and even though the chapel was devoid of anything remotely religious, Quinn genuflected and made the sign of the cross before sitting down. She sighed, resting her forearms on the chair in front of her. She lowered her head to her clasped hands and shut her eyes.

"You've got to help me," she mumbled aloud. "I can't… please… let her be okay. Just… take care of my Rachel, please God…"

She was so tired of crying, but she just couldn't stop. The memories were too much: happy Rachel contrasted with unconscious Rachel, the brown of Rachel's eyes mixing with the stains of blood on her clothes, Rachel's fragrant, sweet smell just after a shower combining with the foul stench of the garbage that had surrounded her in the dumpster. There was a battle raging in Quinn's heart and mind, and she wasn't sure which side was going to win out.

"Why?" she choked out, raising her head. "Why her? Why _Rachel_? You know her, God, you created her. You know how beautiful she is, how wonderful… So I don't understand… why did you let this happen to her? _Why_?" She screamed it into the empty room, punching the chair with her fist. "Why?" It was barely a whisper, now.

She had a sudden realization, and Quinn gasped at the force of it, her hand flying to her mouth. She drew it away, shaking. "Is it because of me?" she said. "Are you punishing me? Are you mad that we're together? Because I'm sorry, I'm so sorry… she doesn't deserve this." She sniffed loudly, then her entire body stiffened.

Quinn sat ramrod straight in her chair, the same steely light in her eyes that she used to have just before she slushied someone, a year ago. She was back on top, the top of the social pyramid, top of the _Cheerios_ pyramid, top of the world… And it all meant nothing if Rachel Berry ceased being in that world.

This is why Quinn Fabray, newly re-crowned as head of the Cheerios, was ready to bargain. She was ready to strike a deal with the God in heaven, and the devil inside.

"God," she said quietly, "If you save her… I'll leave her alone." Bile rose up in her throat at the thought, but she forced it down. "If you're punishing me because I'm with her… save her, and I'll leave. Or if someone attacked her just because she's with me… please, just save her. I'll leave her alone, I swear I'll leave her alone."

Quinn lowered her head to the back of the chair in front of her, and cried as if her heart would break.

She managed to calm herself down and make her way back to the waiting room, just in time to see the doctor come out. She hastened to stand beside Rob.

If the doctor was surprised to see seven people jumping up and rushing him, he didn't show it. He just held up his hands. "Mr. Berry?" he inquired.

"Yes," Patrick said.

"Yes," Rob said.

The doctor looked confused, and Rachel's two dads shared a small smile. They were used to this.

"How is my daughter, Doctor?" Rob asked.

"Rachel was beaten up pretty badly," the doctor said, causing Quinn to whimper, and Patrick wrapped an arm around her shoulders, squeezing. "Luckily her attacker managed to avoid areas that would have been most damaged, so she's got a bruised jaw and ribs, a couple of tender and bruised spots on her stomach, and one hell of a bruise on her back. Looks like someone kicked her."

Quinn's hands curled into fists; behind her, Santana growled, and Brittany said "Well, that was just _mean_."

"There was so much blood," Quinn said. "Why was there so much blood?"

"Well, Rachel did have a busted lip," the doctor explained, "So that would cause some of it. But also, apparently her head hit something, and when it did, it cut her scalp, so she needed some stitches. Scalp wounds can bleed a lot. She also has a concussion, but she's lucky, considering."

"But is she all right?" Patrick asked.

"Physically, yes," the doctor said, and Quinn hugged Rob and Patrick, then Santana and Brittany. Somewhere in the midst of all the relief and hugging, Santana managed to hug Figgins, and when she realized what she'd done, she jerked back as if her principal had burned her, her face turning bright red.

"Doctor," Rob said then. "You said she was _physically_ okay. Is she not all right… _mentally_?"

"If you're asking if she has diminished mental capacity, no, she's fine in that regard. Emotionally, however…" He trailed off.

"Did she tell you what happened?" Schue asked.

The doctor nodded. "Mr. Berry… and, uh, Mr. Berry," he colored a little. "You should probably go in and talk to her. She's also been asking for someone named Quinn since she regained consciousness."

Rob smiled at her, but the doctor hadn't finished speaking.

"But I don't think that she should talk to anyone but her parents right now. And, um, you might want to call the police."

"The police?" Patrick's voice was panicked, angry; Quinn felt a chill run through her body.

"You should just talk to her."

Rob nodded to his husband, and to Quinn. "Come on, then."

The doctor shook his head. "It's better if she just has two visitors at a time."

Quinn's heart sank.

"No. She goes with us. She's family, and Rachel will need her."

God, she loved the Berrys.

Room 223 was dark, with only the light in the bathroom illuminated.

It was enough to shine on black and red, blue and purple, and the brown eyes that pooled with sadness above them.

"Daddy!" Rachel cried out, her body shaking with sobs. Quinn watched as Rachel was captured in their arms, looking very much their scared little girl as she clung to them, and they soothed her with whispered words and their own tears.

"Someone else is here to see you," Patrick said gently.

Quinn stepped up to the bed as Rachel's father moved to the side, and Rachel whimpered, seeing her. She held out her arms and Quinn, as gently as possible, maneuvered herself onto the bed next to her love, and took Rachel carefully in her embrace.

"Shh, shh," she soothed, rocking Rachel as she cried, her own tears wetting the girl's hair. "It's all right, baby; you're okay, you're okay, we're here…" She pressed tender kisses, softer than a butterfly's wings, against the bruises on Rachel's face.

Rachel's hands fisted in Quinn's shirt. "I thought you were mad at me," she mumbled.

"What? Why on earth would you think that, baby?"

"You were yelling at me to stay awake, and I just wanted to sleep. You were mad."

Quinn kissed her lips, taking care to avoid the angry, wounded area. "No, baby. I… Santana and Brittany and I, we found you in the dumpster. You were unconscious, and I was trying to keep you awake so you wouldn't… so you wouldn't…" She sniffled and buried her face in Rachel's shoulder.

"I was in the dumpster?" Quinn nodded and Rachel huffed with the same flair for the dramatic that she always had, and her girlfriend exchanged a relieved smile with her fathers. "Figures those Neanderthals would put me in there." The realization brought fresh tears to the girl though, and Quinn held her as tightly as she could without causing more pain.

"Sweetheart," Rob probed gently. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Rachel whimpered again, then looked up at Quinn. "Don't leave me," she whispered. "I was so scared."

It melted Quinn's heart and made it ache with a pain she'd never felt. "I'm right here, baby."

She listened, then, going through an entire myriad of emotions as Rachel told about Peterson and Randolph, red jackets and red hair, _faggot_ and _dyke_ and _rugmuncher_, hardly able to talk around her sobs, even as Quinn held her and stroked her hair. Patrick excused himself with tears and fury in his eyes and his phone in his hand, and Quinn knew the police would be coming.

As each new detail came to light, Quinn's worst nightmare was confirmed.

Maybe God wasn't punishing her, but Rachel was being punished for being in love with Quinn.

Quinn knew. It was _her_ fault.

"_Rachel… are you sure?"_

"_Why wouldn't I be?" Rachel asked. "I love you. I don't want to have to hide that."_

"_Yeah," Quinn said uncertainly. "Rach, you know I love you, so much, but… this is Lima. And, I don't know, I don't think they're ready for an out lesbian couple at the high school."_

_Rachel drew Quinn down onto the bed with her, snuggling them against the pillows and hooking her leg around Quinn's hip. "I just want everyone to know how proud I am that Quinn Fabray is in love with me."_

_Touched, Quinn kissed her. "I wouldn't mind everyone knowing that Rachel Berry is officially off the market."_

"_The market, Quinn?" Rachel said drily. "So I'm a piece of meat to be sold, am I? Or perhaps you want to auction me off to the highest bidder in the cafeteria at lunch. 'Step right up, folks, and bid for your chance at Rachel Berry, singer extraordinaire and—'"_

"_Rachel," Quinn silenced her with another kiss. "Shut up."_

_When Quinn's hands started wandering, she did._

_The two girls were holding hands when they walked into school that morning. If people stopped and stared, it wasn't because two girls were holding hands, which was actually rather commonplace, what with Cheerios, and Santana and Brittany still performing this casual "Are they or aren't they?" dance with each other. No, they stared because it was Quinn Fabray, queen of William McKinley High School, holding hands with Rachel Berry, who had, until recently, been the school's whipping girl._

_Still, __**all**__ eyes were on them when Quinn kissed Rachel on the lips at her locker, right during the rush to get to 2__nd__ period._

_The next morning, Jacob's blog sarcastically recounted every detail._

_Rachel was thrilled – numerous students had come up to her in private and cheered her on for being so open about herself. Brittany, in particular, had given Rachel a bear hug accompanied with a giddy squeal, a reaction that did not go unnoticed by Santana, who appeared deep in thought._

_But Quinn was not as thrilled. She was glad that she could hold Rachel's hand, or give her little gestures of affection throughout the day, but she was uneasy. She couldn't shake this feeling she had in the pit of her stomach, that as she walked the hallways with Rachel's hand in hers, the stares from some students were less than benevolent._

And then she was shuttled out of the room as the police arrived, and they converged on Rachel, with Figgins, Schuester, and Rachel's dads in tow. Rachel had turned a pair of absolutely terrified eyes onto Quinn, and she had kissed her quickly, gently.

"I'll be back," she promised. "I promise I'll come back."

When she got to the waiting room and saw Santana and Brittany, Quinn's resolve wavered, and she began to panic. Brittany made it to her first, and helped her outside into the cool, now nighttime, air. She took great gasping breaths, steadying herself on the rail to the ramp leading up to the emergency room.

"How is she?"

"They called her _dyke_," Quinn hissed, and she heard Santana's sharp intake of breath. "They called her _rugmuncher._ They called her fathers and Kurt _faggots_. And they beat her up." She whirled on Santana and Brittany, her voice escaping in an angry shout.

"They beat her up because she loves _me_!" She kicked the wall. "It's my fault," she finished miserably.

"You know that's not true."

"If she wasn't dating me, this wouldn't have happened."

"If she wasn't dating you, she'd be dating someone else," Brittany said, and Quinn stared at her, half repulsed at the idea of Rachel dating someone else, and half impressed at the normally dim girl's logic. "And they'd beat her up for that."

"Brittany's right," Santana said, touching Quinn's arm with her hand, a gesture uncharacteristically gentle for the normally rough-and-tumble cheerleader. "It's not because it was _you_. It's because it was a _girl_."

"She wouldn't be with a girl if it wasn't for _me_," Quinn said.

"Do you realize how stupid you sound right now?" Santana snapped. "Pull yourself together, Fabray, the last thing Rachel needs is for you to crawl inside your head and hide."

Santana's words stayed in the back of her mind as she and the girls were forced by the Berrys to go home to eat and shower; Quinn had protested until Rob told her that Rachel had had another crying fit when she realized Quinn had _her_ blood on her tee-shirt, and then she was out the door, pulling Santana and Brittany with her. She barely managed to force down a sandwich, even though she was ravenous. It was too hard to eat when she kept worrying about Rachel, back at the hospital, having to deal with the police and god knew what else. Santana and Brittany drove to Brittany's house so that they could shower and change (Santana _always_ keeping a change of clothes at Brittany's, "just in case"). It was just Santana who came back to pick Quinn up, and after she had packed a couple of things into a small duffel bag (_Funny Girl_ dvd and Streisand cds and… okay, so she _was_ whipped – as well as some clothes for overnight), Quinn climbed once again into the passenger seat of the car.

They rode in silence until Quinn said, "It's my fault."

"And I still say you're an idiot for thinking that way." Santana's eyes never left the road. "Look, Q, you're not responsible for other people's ignorance, or their violence. _You_ didn't hurt Rachel, _you_ didn't call her those names."

"What if it were Brittany?"

Santana's fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and her gaze flicked to Quinn. "Don't even say that."

"What if it were Brittany?" Quinn repeated, her voice low and angry. "Picture it, Santana, if it were Brittany lying in that dumpster, covered with garbage and blood and bruises—"

"Shut the fuck up, Quinn!"

"What if she got beaten up because she was in love with you? How would you feel then?"

Santana didn't answer; Quinn could see that she was breathing heavily, and her eyes were sparkling with unshed tears. She shook her head.

"Whatever. You can't even admit that you love her."

"Maybe not," Santana snapped as they pulled into the parking lot, "But at least I'm not dumb enough to go around blaming myself for other people's mistakes."

By the time she got back to Rachel's room, the petite diva was asleep, having been given quite a cocktail of pain medication. Rob smiled at Quinn's questioning look, and pulled her aside.

"You sure you don't mind staying tonight?"

"I'm staying."

He nodded. "The police took a statement… and pictures." Quinn winced, wondering how Rachel had felt about that. "She's really broken up, and… you can tell she's terrified, but… she's holding her own."

Rachel's father suddenly looked old and weary, and his husband hugged him, kissing him gently. Quinn smiled at them.

"Go home and try to rest," she said. She glanced at the thankfully now-peaceful form on the bed. "She's safe here with me."

Quinn pulled the chair as close as she could get to Rachel's bedside, then reached her hand up and softly ran her fingers through loose brown curls. Rachel was snoring a little, and Quinn grinned. She tried not to look at the bruises, and was grateful that it was mostly dark in the room, hiding the bitter wounds placed on Rachel's body by a couple of jocks on a power trip.

Quinn sighed. If only practice hadn't run so late. If only she had called Rachel before school let out. If only she had gone to search for her when she'd noticed her girlfriend wasn't in the bleachers. If only… if only…

"Hey, beautiful."

Quinn's gaze snapped to the bed, and met Rachel's brown eyes, hazy with sleep and pain killers. She smiled, leaning forward and gently taking Rachel's hand in hers.

"Hey, my lovely. How are you feeling?"

"My spirit has rebounded with all the glory of a phoenix rising from the ashes," Rachel joked feebly, and Quinn snickered. "My body, not so much. I hurt all over."

"Rach," Quinn breathed, "I'm so sorry I wasn't there to protect you."

"Hush," Rachel scolded. "This isn't your fault." She paused. "Quinn?"

"Yes, sweetheart."

"Would you-?" Rachel gestured towards the bed, shifting over to make room, hissing as she did so. "Ow."

"Hey, go easy, honey." Quinn helped her move over, then carefully climbed in beside her. Rachel draped the blanket over them, and Quinn wrapped her arms around the smaller girl, holding lightly. She lowered herself to the pillows, with Rachel's head on her shoulder.

"I feel safer now."

Quinn sighed, a few tears falling onto Rachel's hair. She squeezed gently. "You are safe, baby."

"Quinn?"

"Yes?"

"Sing to me?"

Quinn nodded, and thought quickly. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she recalled a little song that she had learned when she was a child, in elementary school.

"_This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine,_" Quinn sang softly, rocking Rachel in her arms. _"This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine… This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine, let it shine, let it shine, let it shine…"_

She paused, noticing that Rachel had curled closer to her, arms wrapped around her waist and clinging tightly.

"S'good," Rachel mumbled sleepily, and Quinn stroked her hair. "More?"

She kissed Rachel's cheek. _"Won't let no one put it out, I'm gonna let it shine, won't let no one put it out, I'm gonna let it shine, won't let no one put it out, I'm gonna let it shine,"_ she lowered her voice, Rachel's deep breathing telling her the girl was asleep. _"Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine…"_

She lay there, her eyes closed with Rachel warm and gentle against her chest, and suddenly remembered her bargain. It was like a pang in her heart, the realization of what she'd agreed to. But Rachel was here, Rachel was alive and safe, and a deal was a deal.

The last thing Quinn thought of before she drifted off to sleep was that she would have to break up with the one person that mattered to her more than anything.


	4. Fade

The pain, she could deal with. The soreness in her back and stomach, the pulling of the stitches on her scalp… she'd had other surgeries throughout her seventeen years of life, and besides, Lortab was a _really_ nice invention.

The nightmares, though… Rachel was powerless against them.

The first night home, she'd woken herself – and the rest of the household – by jerking out of a nightmare and screaming for Quinn. Instantly she was in the blonde girl's arms – they'd fallen asleep spooning – and Rachel was mortified when the door opened and her fathers stumbled in, hair wild and eyes worried. She had simply breathed that she was okay, that they should go back to bed, and that she was sure that it would never happen again.

It did.

Every night.

Her fathers had both asked, and Quinn, too, several times, but Rachel refused to tell them. It wasn't because she was afraid to say that she was dreaming about _it_, or that she was scared to recount _it_, it wasn't even because the night wasn't the only time she had nightmares. Some days Rachel couldn't _stop_ thinking about _it_, until she forced herself to watch Funny Girl or something on the television with Quinn.

Rachel was scared to talk about what images came to her in the darkness of night or even in broad daylight, because something had _changed_.

It was subtle, but Rachel Berry prided herself on that sixth sense, that power of perception, that assurance that any slight change in her daily routine would not go unnoticed. So she noticed, but then her life was bombarded with so many… _weird_ occurrences that even she was having a hard time keeping up.

First it was Finn and Puck, showing up at her house, together – which made Quinn mutter something about the apocalypse, because they hadn't exactly been on _speaking_ terms for the last year. But show up together they did, and they stood at the foot of Rachel's bed, arms crossed over their chest and looking like a pop singer's entourage.

"So, we," Puck gestured to Finn, "Are your bodyguards now."

"Bodyguards," Rachel repeated, slowly.

Finn nodded. "Yup. We'll walk with you to all of your classes, and we'll walk you to Quinn's car after school."

"Finn, I really don't think—"

"Rachel," Puck interrupted, "You don't get a vote this time."

It was on the tip of her tongue to protest, but there was something akin to kindness and regret in Puck's eyes, and for once in her life, Rachel Berry was speechless.

She didn't see Quinn, who was sitting beside her, smile, grateful that even though she had screwed both Puck and Finn over royally, they were still willing to do what she had asked.

Santana and Brittany were next, Brittany bouncing in and plopping a stuffed dachshund on Rachel's lap. Rachel eyed it, surprised it wasn't a duck.

"I decided I wanted a collie," which didn't really explain things at all, but made Quinn laugh and Santana blush, and that was perfectly all right with Rachel.

"Berry," Santana said, looking even more uncomfortable than she usually did, and she cleared her throat.

"Santana?"

"So, uh… this whole almost-dying thing?" Santana looked down at the floor, her voice taking on a soft, if uncertain tone.

"Do me a favor and don't do it again."

Rachel nodded. "I'll do my best."

"Yeah, well, it'd kinda suck if you weren't here and all, just because you keep Quinn off my ass, and I _really_ don't want to have to deal with her too much, if you know what I mean."

Rachel smiled, knowing this was as close as Santana would get to offering friendship, and Santana grinned back, relieved that Rachel had understood.

"Hey, Rachel?" Brittany whispered.

Rachel hugged her. "Hey, Britt."

"Santana told me she loved me."

Rachel gasped and squealed a little, and Santana rolled her eyes. "It's about time!"

"Yeah, that's what I said," Brittany laughed, a dreamy smile on her face.

Mike and Matt came by, which was highly awkward, because neither they nor Rachel or Quinn knew really what to say to each other, but the boys smiled at them and offered reassurances of keeping _both_ of them safe, which gained them about a million points in Rachel's book.

Tina was next, minus Artie because he wouldn't have been able to get up the steps, and probably wouldn't have let Rachel's dads carry him up, even though Rachel knew they wouldn't have minded. But Tina brought magazines and sat and talked easily for an hour, about Glee and Artie and school, all the while actually holding Rachel's hand. Though if she had looked over and caught Quinn's rather jealous look, she probably would have dropped it like a hot potato.

After Tina left, Rachel glanced at her girlfriend. "Quinn? You look… almost _purple_. Something wrong?"

Quinn cleared her throat, a little bit of normal color returning to her face. "I'm fine, Rachel," she said, but muttered something that Rachel distinctly heard as "Bitch better keep her hands to herself," and she smirked.

The visit from Mercedes and Kurt put Rachel's emotions through the wringer, and exhausted her. Mercedes talked mostly to Quinn, after offering Rachel a hug and a quick "I'm glad you're still here." Kurt though… he sat on Rachel's bed and just looked at her, his face white and biting his lower lip.

"Kurt?"

He held up his hand. "Rachel," he said, his voice hoarse as if he had been crying. "Rachel, I'm sorry. We gotta… we gotta stick together, you know?"

Quinn had told him what the guys had said; Rachel knew she'd told _everybody_. It wasn't like it wasn't common knowledge, anyway, what with three jocks in red letterman's jackets being jerked out of class by police and hauled downtown. It had filled Rachel with triumph when she'd heard that.

But Rachel had the distinct impression that she and Kurt had at last found a commonality, a shared ground that they hadn't had before. And judging by Kurt's face, he was deeply regretting the fact that it had been at the expense of her body that that mutual respect had been found. Rachel reached out and squeezed his hand, and he started to smile at her.

"We'll stick together," she promised, and Kurt's smile had practically lit up the whole room.

With unexpected injuries, as well as with birth and death, there follows a revolving door of guests, with awkward smiles and even more awkward words, until, finding that the recipient of those words are, for better or worse, fine, the visits stop. Such was the case with Rachel. After three days, no one came by to visit anymore, and Rachel was left alone to finally put her sixth sense to work.

It wasn't that Quinn had stopped being affectionate; she hadn't. There was just something… _missing_ in the way that she held Rachel's hand as they sat on Rachel's bed together watching movies. It was almost as if Quinn was putting an invisible barrier between her palm and Rachel's, trying to establish some distance that Rachel didn't understand. She hadn't stopped holding her, or even kissing her, but when their lips were pressed together, Rachel could see directly into Quinn's deep hazel eyes, and she saw something.

Something that looked a lot like indifference.

More than once while they were watching a movie, Rachel would glance over at Quinn and catch her girlfriend staring off into space, tears dotting her eyelashes. But she would never tell Rachel what was going on, and finally it ended up in a fight with Quinn spending the night in her room, which meant that Rachel's dads comforted her when the nightmare struck. She wasn't bothered about the fact that they had fought – they had fought before, and somehow always managed to find their way back to each other.

"_You couldn't even agree with me!"_

"_That's because I __**didn't agree**__ with you!" Quinn slammed the door to Rachel's bedroom, leaning up against it with her arms crossed, looking every bit the old Quinn Fabray, Head Bitch in Charge. She took a deep breath. "Rachel, just because I'm dating you, I can't agree with you on everything. I do have a mind of my own, you know."_

_Rachel gaped. "Honestly, Quinn, you make it sound like I'm trying to control you! I just thought that my selection for next week's performance was quite a good one, one that would benefit our group and one that would showcase our individual tal—"_

"_And one that no one else wanted!" Quinn sighed, frustrated. "Rachel, you have __**got**__ to learn to back down, some, and realize that even though you have a lot of great knowledge about music, you __**have**__ to listen to what others say and want. You were outvoted, 11 to 1, and I'm not going to pretend I agree with you, just because you tend to have some knight in shining armor complex!"_

_Rachel stared at her as Quinn fell silent, horror settling on her face when she saw the hurt in Rachel's eyes._

"_Rachel, I—"_

"_I need to be alone."_

_Quinn looked down at the floor, biting her lip as a few tears trickled down her cheeks. "Okay," she said finally, and left._

_Rachel went about her regular routine, except that she took dinner in her room – and so did Quinn. Her dad Rob had come to her door to talk, but she just waved him off with a curt "It'll be all right. I just need a little while."_

_A little while didn't last long. By the time she had eaten, finished her homework and brushed her teeth, the ache in her heart from the lack of Quinn, and the empty right side of her bed, was too much for Rachel. So at a few minutes after ten, she groaned, threw back the covers, and padded across the hall._

_She could hear Quinn sniffling when she opened the door, and she closed her eyes, briefly, before crossing the floor and climbing in the bed next to her, wrapping her arms around Quinn from behind. Quinn stiffened, then relaxed, but said nothing._

"_You know," Rachel said gently, "I'm sure that Lancelot didn't agree with Guinevere all the time… even though Guinevere always had impeccable taste in, well, everything." Quinn let out a soft giggle, and Rachel squeezed her. "And I know that Guinevere could never stop loving her Lancelot."_

_Quinn turned in Rachel's arms and kissed her, then tucked her head against Rachel's neck._

"_I love you."_

"_I love you more."_

"_So you say."_

"_So I __**mean**__." Rachel grinned, loving this casual exchange that had almost become a ritual between them. She kissed Quinn again._

"_You're prettier than Guinevere." Quinn snuggled and closed her eyes, yawning._

"_And you're a hell of a lot hotter than Lancelot."_

She was bothered that Quinn simply wouldn't talk to her, beyond the mundane things of their plans for the day, what to have for dinner, and going back to school.

Rachel had insisted on going back to school two weeks after her attack. Her dads were reluctant, even going so far as suggesting she transfer to a private school downtown, and she and Quinn had had another fight over it. But Rachel Berry was not to be deterred. "If every Broadway actress in the world," she declared, "gave up after losing a role, we wouldn't have some of the greatest musicals to exist. Or Barbra Streisand. I'm not letting a bunch of homophobic assholes (and here Quinn's eyes widened, because Rachel? Swearing? Whoa.) keep me from my life. I'm _going_ back to school."

The first day was nerve-wracking. As soon as she came through the doors – clutching Quinn's hand tight enough to make the other girl wince – the whispers started. Quinn had just squeezed her fingers, looking uncertain, then smiling with relief when Finn and Puck, true to their word as promised bodyguards – and with black sunglasses to match – came up in front of them and led them both to their lockers. The rest of the day passed with more stares and whispers, but without incident. Within a week, Rachel felt comfortable enough to dismiss Puck and Finn, who at first refused until she threatened to call them every night at 3 a.m. and sing The Climb. She'd never seen Puck run so fast, and Finn actually tripped over his sneakers.

Quinn grew progressively more distant. She stopped spending most of her time in Rachel's room, instead doing her homework in her own room, and watching television. It got to the point where, really, the only time Rachel saw her was at school, and then again at dinner. Her girlfriend still slept with her at night, but that was it. They hadn't had sex since the attack, a fact that Rachel was somewhat grateful for, because she just wasn't ready. But Quinn had even stopped her soft, tender kisses that Rachel so craved, and replaced them instead with quick kisses to Rachel's cheeks that left her confused and wanting.

What made it worse for Rachel was that the nightmares continued. Quinn would hold her and soothe her, rock her to sleep or sing, and Rachel found herself _grateful_ for the nightmares, because it meant Quinn, at least briefly, would slip back to her role as loving, gentle girlfriend, and Rachel missed it. At the same time, Rachel couldn't stop from seeing those images that plagued her constantly, images that made her want to push Quinn away from her and run like hell.

Something had to be done.

"Quinn, can you come in here please?" Rachel called down the hall, towards Quinn's room. She sat on her bed and twisted her hands nervously.

Quinn was there in an instant. "Are you all right?" she said, a hint of worry in her eyes. "Do you need something?"

"No." Rachel said. "I just think that… we need to talk."

"Oh." Quinn wouldn't look at her. "Yeah… I think you're right, we do."

Quinn sat on the bed next to her, scuffing the floor with her shoe. "So."

"So."

There was silence for what seemed to be years, heavy and thick between them. And then…

"I think we should stop seeing each other," Quinn said.

"Maybe we should break up," Rachel said at the same time.

Both of their mouths fell open a little, and Rachel swallowed, hard. "Oh. So… you've been kind of distant, lately, I guess, and… I guess I know why, now?"

Quinn nodded. "I didn't want to tell you. Not right after the accident. I didn't want to hurt you."

"What happened?"

"I just… fell out of love with you."

Rachel's heart dropped. She couldn't imagine Quinn not being in love with her. Quinn's hazel eyes were unreadable, and Rachel could _swear_ she saw hurt and pain but still _love_, and she wondered if it was real or if she was just wishful thinking.

"Why do _you_ want to break up?" Quinn asked softly.

_Don't ask me that_, Rachel thought. _Please, don't ask me that._ She couldn't tell her. She was not going to tell Quinn the reason that she couldn't be with her anymore.

She had to keep her _safe_.

"I… I don't love you anymore," Rachel answered miserably, wanting to throw up. She had never been a good liar – she'd cheated on a test once in second grade, and wrote a note on the bottom of it that she'd done so – and she wasn't sure if Quinn would believe her.

Judging by the way Quinn's face fell, and the way her eyes were now shiny with tears, she had.

Which was weird. If Quinn didn't love her, what good was it, if Rachel still loved _her_? Rachel was more than confused, but she was resolute. She sat there with Quinn, in the silence of their own mutual revelation, until Quinn got up.

"Well… I guess that's it then."

"Yeah."

Quinn left, shutting the door softly behind her.

When Rob and Patrick came home from work and ascended the stairs, they were shocked to hear sobbing, muffled by two closed doors on both sides of the hall.

_She was in the parking lot, on a hot afternoon filled with sunshine. The lot was empty, save a few cars. Behind her she could hear laughter, nothing but loud, all-encompassing laughter that gave her a headache, and made her clasp her hands over her ears._

_She walked forward, keeping the large, green box in sight._

_The dumpster._

_The laughter grew louder, and she could feel herself panic. People appeared all around her, tall and leering, jostling her from one pair of hands to another, propelling her ever closer to the dumpster. A red-haired boy stepped in front of her and snarled, "Where you going, __**dyke**__?" before his voice faded away into high-pitched, squealing giggles._

_When she reached it, the laughter and people disappeared. She took a deep breath, and opened the lid._

_Rachel screamed._

"Quinn!"

She felt someone shaking her, and Rachel threw out her fists, until a pair of strong, small hands caught them.

"Rachel!" Quinn shouted. "Rachel, you're all right!"

She gasped, a great, sucking breath of air that filled her lungs until it hurt, afraid that if she didn't, she would die. Her shaking settled and she realized she was sitting up in bed, in the darkness, with Quinn in front of her and her fathers in the doorway.

"You two going to be okay?" Patrick asked tiredly, and Rachel felt a pang of guilt. The entire household was exhausted from interrupted sleep, and it was her fault.

"We'll be fine," Quinn said, hazel eyes searching Rachel's. "Go back to bed."

They closed the door, leaving the two girls alone. Rachel was glad she couldn't see Quinn anymore; she was afraid if she had to keep looking into the eyes that she loved so much, she'd break down. And she couldn't afford that.

"Are you okay?" Quinn asked gently as Rachel lay back onto her pillows.

"I think so. Why are you here?"

"You had a nightmare," Quinn said, and Rachel felt her shrug. "You shouldn't be alone."

"Thought you didn't love me anymore," Rachel snapped bitterly.

Quinn was quiet for a moment.

"You shouldn't be alone."

When Rachel woke up to an alarm, her clock read 5:30 – a full half hour before her alarm _should have_ gone off. Through her sleep-clouded eyes she could see Quinn turning off her phone, then getting up from her place on the floor by Rachel's bed, picking up a pillow and blanket, and going back to her room.

Rachel buried her face in her pillow, and allowed her heart to break.

"You're both miserable," her dad Patrick said to her later that evening, over dinner. Quinn had gone out with Brittany and Santana, a fact that made Rachel seethe with jealousy. She supposed it wouldn't be long before Quinn replaced her with someone else.

"Quinn made her decision, and I made mine."

"I don't know about Quinn, but _your_ decision was a lie."

Rachel stared at her daddy Rob, a fork halfway to her mouth. "What?" she said, returning it to the plate.

"I know you're scared," he said gently, "but if you let what they did to you get in the way of you and Quinn… they win, Rach."

She pushed her chair back with a scrape and threw down her napkin. "You just don't understand. You have no idea what you're talking about."

As she stomped up the stairs and slammed her door, Patrick and Rob glanced at each other.

"We should put that in the scrapbook," Rob suggested.

Patrick nodded. "Rachel's first teenage temper tantrum. Our little girl is growing up."

The clock on her bedside table read 11:45 when Rachel finally heard Quinn creep quietly up the stairs to her room. She was angry, but that anger quickly disappeared when Quinn passed by her door and Rachel heard soft sobs. They faded, and Quinn's bedroom door closed.

"_Baby?"_

_Quinn sniffled and moved away from Rachel, turning on her side, facing the wall._

_Rachel, undaunted, simply moved closer and wrapped her arms around Quinn. She thought a minute, then opened her mouth and began to softly sing._

"_She cries, at night, when she doesn't think that I can hear her… she tries, to hide all the fear she feels inside… so I pray, this time, I can be the girl that she deserves 'cause I die, a little each time, when she cries…"_

"_That was so depressing," Quinn remarked, but at least she wasn't crying anymore, and Rachel squeezed her, quietly waiting._

"_I miss my mom." It was soft, wounded. Mrs. Fabray had refused to see Quinn after the birth of her granddaughter, the granddaughter that Quinn had given up for adoption._

_Rachel pressed a kiss to the back of Quinn's neck. "I know, beautiful."_

"_And I miss Beth… So much." She turned in Rachel's arms, burying her face in her neck as she sobbed. "What if I did the wrong thing? What if Shelby isn't good to her?"_

_Rachel winced at the sound of her mother's name. She honestly tried to never think about the fact that Shelby had rejected her, in favor of Quinn's daughter. But for Quinn's sake, she spoke gently._

"_She will. She wanted a baby, and Beth is beautiful, like her mother." She brushed a strand of hair away from Quinn's face, and kissed her gently. "You did the right thing, sweetheart. I know sometimes it doesn't seem like it, but you gave Beth the best gift you could: someone who was old enough and stable enough – not that you're not stable, I mean, mentally you're fine, most of the time, financially not so much – to take care of her. That's an incredible thing, and you're an amazing person for having the courage to do it."_

_Quinn had rolled her eyes at yet another instance of Rachel Berry word vomit, but by the end, she was smiling a little. She clung to Rachel, who held her and sung a lullaby until they both drifted off to sleep._

Rachel got out of bed and went across the hall, not saying a word, just sitting on the edge of Quinn's bed, away from her.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No," Quinn said, her voice thick with tears.

"Okay, well," Rachel lay down on the bed, her head resting against a pillow. "I'm here if you do."

"Why **are** you here?"

"I don't like to hear you cry," Rachel confessed. To her, it was the worst sound in the world – worse than Miley Cyrus's singing.

Quinn scoffed. "I thought _you_ didn't love me anymore, either."

_Yes, I do,_ she wanted to scream. _I love you more than anything else, but I can't… I can't… _

Instead, she simply said, "I don't like to hear you cry."

They lay there in silence, and eventually, Rachel fell asleep. She didn't see Quinn turn over towards her, or feel her run a soft hand over her hair, and then raise the blanket to cover her. She didn't feel Quinn press a tender kiss to her lips, or hear her, either, when the blonde girl whispered, "Good night, my lovely…"

The next morning, Rachel awoke to find herself still in Quinn's bed, but Quinn had already left.


	5. Shine

The boys that had attacked Rachel had been expelled from school directly after the incident, but the prosecutor had declined to categorize their assault as a hate crime. As a result, the judge having decided they were just three stupid young boys who had made a mistake, they received community service – and a record that would be expunged when they turned 18. Rachel felt a little cheated, given that they were already seventeen, but at least the boys weren't in school any longer; in fact, the family of one of them had already moved out of town.

Quinn, however, was furious. She was like a little ball of fire when they found out, stalking around the house and slamming things around, talking to herself, and Rachel was able to catch a string of swear words that made her eyes widen. Rachel had only two reactions to watching Quinn's ire: she was incredibly turned on, and incredibly confused.

Turned on because, well, Quinn Fabray was a force of nature when she was angry, and when that anger was because of Rachel (though not directed _at_ her – that inspired an entirely different reaction in Rachel), it was a sight to behold. Her eyes flashed, her lips thinned into a set line, and a slow flush of red would extend from Quinn's cheeks to the tips of ears and down to her collarbone. Her hands would curl into fists and her legs, long and lean, seemed to make her ten feet tall. When Quinn looked like that, Rachel wanted nothing more than to drag her girlfriend upstairs and throw her onto the bed, proceeding to have wild, angry sex that would make both of them scream.

And that was why Rachel was incredibly confused.

Quinn was no longer her girlfriend. In fact, she claimed to not even love Rachel anymore. So she had no idea why she was so angry on Rachel's behalf.

It wasn't like the situation had gotten any better. Quinn was still spending time in her own bedroom, and she'd fall asleep there, but when Rachel would wake the next morning after a nightmare, Quinn would be in her room, asleep on her floor. She'd caught Rachel watching her a few times, and Quinn had turned a brilliant shade of pink and just rushed off, not meeting her eyes.

She still cried in her room. Rachel had heard her numerous times: loud, anguished sobs that were just barely muffled by her closed door. Rachel longed to go in there; there was a pain that she felt so far deep inside herself that she could feel it in her palms, this ache to rush to Quinn's side and envelop the blonde girl in her arms, telling her that it was okay, that she did still love her, that everything was going to be all right…

But she couldn't. And she wouldn't, _because_ she loved her.

Quinn was beside herself with hurt. She spent her nights lying on Rachel's hard bedroom floor, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what she had done to make the smaller girl fall out of love with her. There had been nothing, no signs, no indications, and she just didn't understand what was going on.

She'd stopped praying, and stopped going to church. Quinn Fabray was pissed as hell at God, and the one time she actually decided to talk to Him, she'd said as much. This was not how her life was supposed to be going, not now, not after she'd been on top for so damn long, and had had to work so hard to get there. And it was only because of _Rachel_ that she'd gotten there in the first place. Quinn might have been on top, but that was because, she knew, of Rachel _holding her up_. She was content with her position on the top rung of the social ladder of William McKinley High School because she knew that Rachel would always be right there, holding her up and shining that light that only Rachel had on her, Quinn, who didn't deserve any of it. But now Rachel wasn't there, and Quinn didn't know how to cope.

And it would have been fine for _her_ to make the decision to break up, because she had a good reason. She was being _noble,_ for God's sake, and sticking to the deal she'd made with Him two months ago. She was doing what she had to do to protect Rachel, and it was pissing her off that He'd let her strike a deal when He knew that Rachel didn't love her anymore. So she gave up on Him. If Rachel didn't love her anymore then Quinn no longer needed to protect her, really, and so for the first time, she felt like she had before Rachel had re-entered her life, and changed everything.

Lost. Adrift. Confused.

Broken.

It was Brittany who brought a clarity to the whole situation, Brittany who had always seemed so dim and fascinated with ducks and ballads, the Brittany who looked at Santana as if she was the only woman in the world, the Brittany who, Santana confessed, made her feel exactly that way, too.

The two Cheerios had come over for a movie night that Rachel had insisted on, because the tension between her and Quinn had gotten to be just too much. Santana wouldn't have been Rachel's first choice to invite over, but Quinn – albeit jokingly – had suggested Finn and Puck, and Rachel figured that even Santana was a superior choice over a potential bloodbath.

They sat on the couch, Rachel next to Brittany, next to Santana, next to Quinn. Santana and Quinn had spent the better part of ten minutes whispering furiously to each other, and once or twice Santana had gestured at Rachel, causing Quinn to slap her hand down. Rachel quirked an eyebrow at her and Quinn folded her arms across her chest, looking away.

"Hey, Rach?" Brittany said, playing with Rachel's hand.

"Hmm?"

"You're like a barn owl."

"What?" Rachel said, as Santana eyed her, and then Brittany.

"You're like a barn owl! Like the one on your sweater," Brittany laughed. "You're fuzzy and cute, and make people want to hug you."

Santana laughed, and even Quinn smiled at that. Rachel ducked her head and grinned. "Thanks, Brittany."

"Do you know what barn owls do?" she whispered.

"Um… well, I guess they fly?"

"No, silly!" Brittany swatted her, grinning. "They mate for life." Rachel looked at her, not following. Brittany sighed. "When a barn owl finds its mate, it's their mate for life. You're a barn owl, Rachel. When you've found your mate, you should hang onto it for life, and not let stupid stuff tear you apart."

Rachel looked down at Brittany's hand in hers, tears suddenly rushing to her eyes. Sometimes Brittany just said things that… made so much damn _sense_. She knew Brittany wasn't really talking about owls, but about Rachel and Quinn. It hurt, and made a lump rise in her throat. She dared to sneak a glance at Quinn, and her heart melted when she saw that the blonde-haired girl was crying silently, tears rolling down her cheeks and dripping onto her hands, clasped in her lap.

"And Quinn is a wolf," Brittany continued, leaning over to gently poke the other girl in her knee.

Quinn looked at her, trying to ignore the sad and wounded expression on Rachel's face. "Why am I a wolf, Brittany?"

Brittany rested her head on Santana's shoulder; the Latina kissed her cheek gently. "You're a wolf because you take care of Rachel. Or… you used to. I don't know why you don't anymore." Brittany pouted a little, not noticing when Quinn winced. "Wolves are always so brave, strong and protective, and a wolf won't let anyone hurt their mate. Like Santana won't let anybody hurt me."

"Damn right," Santana said. "So wait, what am I?"

Brittany smiled serenely. "You're an anglerfish." Santana cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah, because the male anglerfish fuses itself with the female, and it's like, they're not two anymore, but one. Like you and me."

Santana beamed and hugged Brittany, while Rachel and Quinn exchanged small smiles.

"Of course, since they fuse together, that means the female kills the male," Brittany continued, looking confused. "Santana? I don't think I want you to be an anglerfish anymore."

Santana and Brittany left after the movie, and Rachel and Quinn sat on the couch, apart from each other, watching television and occasionally sneaking little looks at each other, and those same smiles, like they used to do a long time ago on Rachel's bed. All too soon it was time for bed, and they descended the stairs together, Rachel looking at Quinn from her doorway as the other girl went to her own bedroom.

"Quinn?"

"Yes?" Her voice was hopeful, melodic, and Rachel fought back a wave of tears.

"Good night," was all she said, and closed the door.

Quinn pursed her lips and sighed, shaking her head. "Good night, baby," she whispered into the air.

That night, the nightmare came again, right on cue, as if by clockwork. Quinn was awakened by the sound of her name, and she leapt out of bed, waving off the two Mr. Berrys, who were standing in the hall, and she quickly made her way to Rachel's bed.

Rachel was awake, thankfully, and Quinn didn't have to worry about getting a black eye – Rachel had punched her twice, previously. But she was holding herself, shaking, and Quinn's heart went out to her. "Rachel," she said gently, sitting down and tucking Rachel's hair behind her ear, ignoring the thrill that ran through her when Rachel leaned into the touch. "Honey, I think maybe it's time you started talking to somebody. Maybe Ms. Pilsbury can—"

"I don't want to talk about it," Rachel sobbed, trying desperately to catch her breath.

"Rachel, you have to," Quinn said. Seeing that she was getting nowhere, she slid onto the bed and wrapped her arm around Rachel. "Shh, shh," she soothed. "It was just a nightmare, honey. You're safe, nobody's going to hurt you, you're not in the dumpster—"

Rachel shoved her with such force that Quinn nearly fell off the bed. "It's not me I see in that fucking dumpster, Quinn! It's _you_!"

_Rachel opened the dumpster._

"_Quinn!"_

_Quinn's body lay on top of a week's worth of garbage, her perfect, sweet face battered, nearly beyond recognition. There are bruises on her arms, her legs, a gaping gash in her neck. Blood streaks down her cheeks, into her hair, over her ears, out of her mouth… It's everywhere, a sea of red broken only by two circles of hazel._

_Quinn's eyes, open. Staring up at the sky with no expression, no emotion, nothing. Lifeless._

_Dead._

Quinn could only stare at her.

"I see _you_," Rachel choked out. She buried her face in her hands and cried. "I see you laying there in the dumpster, and you're bleeding, god there's so much blood, and your eyes are open, and you're _dead_, and it's _my fault_!" Rachel ended practically in a scream.

"Rachel," Quinn breathed, and held out her arms, Rachel nearly launching herself at her. She curled herself around Rachel, holding her tightly, pulling the girl onto her lap and rocking her.

"There are a lot of things that I can do," Rachel sniffed. "I can recite all the lines to Funny Girl. I can tell you at which time a certain song appears on Funny Girl, down to the exact minutes and seconds." Quinn had no clue where this was going, but the speech was so basically Rachel that she was content to let her keep going. "I have an impeccable sense of humor, I can regale hundreds of people with stories that I have at my disposal, and we all know that my voice is unrivalled." She sighed and tucked her head against Quinn's neck. "But there are some things I can't do. I can't do math. I apparently can't dress myself well enough for other people's tastes. And I can't… I can't… I can't lose you."

"Then why did you break up with me?" Quinn asked, struggling to understand while at the same time wanting to take Rachel's pain away from her, to pull it into herself, so that the girl with the brown hair she held clutched in her arms would be happy again. "If you don't want to lose me, then why?"

Rachel sniffed, her hands clinging to the front of Quinn's pajamas. "I don't want… what happened to me to happen to you. And… if you loved me, then… it might. I can't bear the idea of someone… doing that to you. And if you and I aren't together, then… you'll be safe."

"Oh, Rachel…" Quinn lifted Rachel's head with her hands, gently using her thumbs to wipe away the tears on her cheeks. "It's not your fault, Rachel. What happened was just stupid, a bunch of idiots who were just blinded by their own ignorance." She thought back to Brittany's words then, realizing how right she had been. She really shouldn't have been so surprised. "Rachel… you not loving me hurts so much more than any physical attack ever could."

"I do love you," Rachel sobbed then, pulling away from Quinn. "I broke up with you so you'd be safe. But what does it matter, when you don't love me anymore?"

Emboldened by the fact that she hadn't lost Rachel's love after all, Quinn moved to hold her again. "I have something to tell you," she said quietly.

Rachel looked at her suspiciously. "What?"

Quinn sighed. "When you were at the hospital," she began to explain, "And we were all waiting to find out if you… if you…" she took a deep breath. "When we were waiting to see if you were okay, I went to the chapel and prayed. And I told God that if He would let you live, then I would break up with you, leave you alone… to keep you safe."

Rachel raised an eyebrow in spite of herself, saying, "Well, that was kind of dumb."

"Hey!" Quinn said indignantly. "I was trying to protect you! You broke up with me for the same reason!"

"Well, then, we're both morons!" Rachel shot back. She stopped then, a smile toying at the corner of her lips.

And then Rachel was hugging her close, and they were both laughing. "I love you," Quinn whispered against Rachel's lips, then kissed her. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Rachel said, nuzzling her face against Quinn's collarbone, and Quinn nearly purred, it just felt so damn _good_ to have Rachel back in her arms. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," Quinn said. "I just… it felt like I'd almost lost you, Rach. Seeing you, there…." She stopped and closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly.

"Hey, hey," Rachel's hand was on her face, and Quinn opened her eyes to meet Rachel's, dark and brown and full of life, and it took her breath away. "I'm here, baby, okay?" She smiled and kissed Quinn, slowly, deeply, and both of them were gasping for air when she reluctantly pulled away.

"I'll make a deal with you."

Quinn cocked her head at Rachel. "What?" she said, wondering what she was about to get herself into.

Rachel kissed her hand, and Quinn's heart melted at the gesture. "I'll protect you," Rachel said, "And you'll protect me. But we do it _together_. If we don't… they win. And, correct me if I'm wrong, but, I'm pretty sure that Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray _never accept failure_. What do you say?"

Quinn smiled. With one hand cupped behind Rachel's head, she lowered them both to the bed, sliding on top of Rachel and kissing her. "Deal."

Then, slowly and sweetly, with soft words and even softer touches, Quinn and Rachel came together, and found the courage to take back what they both thought they had lost.

The next morning, Patrick poked his head into Rachel's room and, seeing two obviously naked bodies entwined and asleep under the covers, he smiled and exited. They could afford to miss a day of school.

Rachel's nightmares never came back.

Two days later, Quinn and Rachel returned to school, hand in hand, Quinn's chin lifted in defiance as she dared anyone looking at them to make a move.

Santana spotted them first, leaning against her locker, and she grinned. "So I guess the barn owl and the wolf are back together, huh?" Brittany clapped her hands, and Santana kissed her on the lips.

Quinn laughed. "I guess the… uh… not-anglerfishes are pretty damn happy themselves, aren't they?"

"I don't really like being compared to an owl," Rachel complained, once they were out of earshot of Brittany. "And I _liked_ that sweater."

"What animal do you want to be, then?" Quinn said softly, pressing Rachel into her locker and kissing her.

Rachel's eyes sparkled. "How about I just settle for being Rachel, and being yours?"

Quinn pretended to consider this. "That might work."

Rachel swatted her arm and kissed her.

Rachel didn't get into Julliard, but only because she didn't apply. _That_ had resulted in the biggest fight she and Quinn had had since their "breakup," but as soon as Quinn heard Rachel say that a person didn't _have_ to go to Julliard to make it on Broadway, and besides, she really didn't like the idea of her girlfriend going to NYU without her, when there were going to be so many girls throwing themselves at Quinn, and maybe Rachel needed to go with her just so those bitches knew to keep their hands to themselves, Quinn knew she'd lost the argument. And, she found, she didn't mind losing. Not one bit.

_New Directions placed second at Regionals, guaranteeing them a spot at Nationals in New York. The team had gone out to celebrate, but Rachel and Quinn had opted to stay at the hotel, ordering room service and watching the sunset as they ate and talked. Quinn was nervous, but Rachel hadn't noticed._

"_Rachel?" Quinn said during a lull in the conversation._

"_Yes?"_

"_Be my girl."_

_Rachel smiled. "Baby, didn't we go over this a while ago? I am your girl."_

"_No, you don't understand," Quinn shook her head, and brought out the small black box she had been keeping in her pocket. She opened it, displaying the small silver ring. You'd need a magnifying glass to see the diamond, but Quinn had worked and earned and saved for this very moment, and she was damn proud of herself._

_Rachel stared at it, her eyes wide and uncomprehending._

"_Look, I'm not good at these kinds of things," Quinn sighed. "I don't have the… way with words that you do." She hoped Rachel had caught the sarcasm, Quinn's feeble attempt to diffuse the tension of the situation, but she hadn't, and was still staring. This was not going well._

"_I know that we're only eighteen, and I know that a lot of people will probably say that we don't know what we want. But I also know that both of us are in love with each other, and I know that I don't want anybody else. I… I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Rachel. Please… marry me?"_

_Rachel stared at her for a minute longer, blinked, then promptly burst into loud __**unhappy**__ tears as her face crumpled._

_This was Quinn's worst nightmare and she dropped the box on the table as if it burned her. "Rachel, please don't cry," she said frantically. "We don't have to get married, I'm sorry I asked, look, I'll put the ring away, it's okay, please, baby, don't cry!" She wanted to cry herself, though; didn't Rachel love her?_

"_You ruined it!" Rachel wailed._

_Now it was Quinn's turn to stare, confused._

_Rachel reached underneath the table, bringing out a small black box and opening it, slapping it on the table in frustration._

_It was the exact same box as Quinn's, and the exact same ring. Except the ring in Quinn's box was Rachel's size, and the ring in Rachel's box? It was Quinn's size._

"_I had it perfectly planned," Rachel hissed through her sobs. "I've been working on this for a __**month**__. I have a notebook dedicated to it, Quinn, an entire notebook full of suggestions and ideas and techniques! I was going to get down on one knee and romantically proclaim my undying love for you, and you – ruined – it!"_

_Quinn gaped. When she recovered herself, she said incredulously, "So… you __**do**__ want to get married?"_

"_Of course I do!" Rachel wailed again. "But __**I**__ wanted to propose!"_

_Quinn couldn't help it – she cracked up. She threw back her head and laughed so hard tears began to roll down her cheeks, because it was so unromantic and so messed up, but it was so like Rachel to view a marriage proposal as a __**competition**__, and Quinn was just so fucking glad that Rachel did want to marry her that she just couldn't stop laughing._

"_It's not funny!" Rachel snapped, but when Quinn could finally look at her, she was grinning a little._

_Quinn wiped her eyes and got up, coming around the table to Rachel and kneeling between her legs. She reached up to cup Rachel's cheek in her hand, smiling._

"_You suck," Rachel said feebly, but smiled and bent low, pressing a kiss to Quinn's lips._

_Quinn held her ring out to Rachel. "Trade you."_

_The next morning, when Rachel and Quinn joined the rest of the team in the hotel dining room for breakfast, cheeks flushed with the afterglow of post-engagement lovemaking, Quinn noticed that Santana and Brittany were sporting the exact same expressions. Then she caught sight of their hands, and two silver and diamond bands encircling pinky fingers._

"_We'll get actual wedding rings eventually," Santana said then, casually, "But Britt and I kind of like these, too, for right now."_

_Quinn smiled. "Whipped."_

_Santana smirked back at her. "You better believe it. What's __**your**__ excuse, Fabray?"_

"_Please," Quinn scoffed, wrapping her arm around Rachel's shoulder and tugging the girl to her. "I wouldn't have it any other way."_

As they stood on the stage behind the curtain, waiting to make their performing debut at Nationals, Quinn looked over at Rachel and decided that she had never looked more beautiful. In a maroon dress, with her hair curled and falling in waves over her shoulders, Rachel was radiant. Quinn thought back to that horrific day, and how lucky she was that Rachel was standing there, across from her, and what she would have done if Rachel hadn't… She pushed it out of her mind, though, when she saw that Rachel was crossing the floor to come stand in front of her.

"I love you," Quinn said, and kissed her.

"Oh, come on!" Santana said behind them. "Can't you all be apart for like five minutes?"

"I want a kiss," Brittany said, and Santana was giving her one in a heartbeat as Quinn smirked.

"I love you more," Rachel said, an impish grin on her face and a sparkle in her eyes.

"So you say."

"So I **mean**."

"Okay, you win," Quinn laughed.

"I always do," Rachel tossed over her shoulder as she resumed her place on stage.

The music started, the curtain rose, and Quinn thought back again, to that day, and to the simple little lullaby that she had learned so long ago, sung to Rachel as they lay together in a hospital bed.

She watched as Rachel moved to the center of the stage for her solo, tears rushing to her eyes when she looked back at Quinn and smiled. Rachel was her light, and Quinn would be forever content to bask in it.

The music swelled to a crescendo, Rachel's voice soared, and so did Quinn's heart.

_Let it shine._


End file.
